


Complacency of The Learned: Beta

by InkHero



Series: Complacency of The Learned: The Series [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Backstory, Calmasis' Prolouge, Complacency of the Learned, Hierarchy, Multi, characters to be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkHero/pseuds/InkHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What follows in this series of highly unfortunate, somewhat true events, written down in these gargantuan tomes is not an epic of humorous nature. This is an Odyssey of Misery, containing a web of tales of tragic, almost pathetically written woe. Each string contains its own rings of evils and mistakes- one for each character, for each situation.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, I can neither confirm nor deny their accuracy. That is up to you, as a reader, to adjudicate. However, I can admit that I have manipulated various occurrences for the sake of my crux to be plain to those with the sense to understand it. To some, they will be pages upon pages of complete and utter nonsense. They will throw this book in the trash, burn it, protest it, and obviously insult it. Still, I know this book will be taken and read by those who need to desperately see it.</p>
<p>As believed in the Theory of Everything, all events are linked, and will have their own, crucial part in creating their own end.</p>
<p>This is the story of a monster, and the monsters that made it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Complacency of The Learned](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/29918) by Andrew Hussie. 



Read this carefully; I dislike repeating myself, even though I am fairly sure I will be repeating myself often.

What follows in this series of highly unfortunate, somewhat true events, written down in these gargantuan tomes is not an epic of humorous nature. This is an Odyssey of Misery, containing a web of tales of tragic, almost pathetically written woe. Each string contains its own rings of evils and mistakes- one for each character, for each situation.

Unfortunately, I can neither confirm nor deny their accuracy. That is up to you, as a reader, to adjudicate. However, I can admit that I have manipulated various occurrences for the sake of my crux to be plain to those with the sense to understand it. To some, they will be pages upon pages of complete and utter nonsense. They will throw this book in the trash, burn it, protest it, and obviously insult it. Still, I know this book will be taken and read by those who need to desperately see it.

In these six books, I have recorded things that have happened, things that are happening, and things that will happen. They are what I have Seen, what I wish to convey, and what I have simply made up to suit my fancy (though I promise, the third ties closely with the first). The melancholy of it all is bittersweet, now that I lament on it- certain things I have seen will occur whether I interfere or not, and in certain situations, I would gladly offer my entire soul in exchange for them to simply not happen. But I cannot; to think I could do such a thing would be absolutely silly. One cannot stop Time. Yet… the sweetness is present, I must admit.

Because I can taste that sweetness is why I wrote this introduction. There will come a time when the sky is bright, and the future is hopeful. Quite possibly, you might even find certain things humorous. Even in the grimmest of settings, a moment can resemble joy. I beg of you, my reader; please, cherish them. They will be hard to find. Not only for you, but for the poor souls in these books.

I wrote this specifically for you, but doubtlessly you have skipped through it, circumvented it in hopes of beginning the Epic of The Incandescent Cherub.

In the beginning, I told you to examine this carefully. If you are possibly scanning through the pages in hopes the words “gay wizard sex” appears in the same grammatically correct sequence as “and then they had”, then by all means, find something better. This book was not meant for you to grasp anyhow, so you reading this is pointless. In fact, make yourself useful and go read another book about wizards and brag about how you understand it. I am sure everyone will think you are so intelligent for reading those, truly.

I wrote this introduction to plainly state that the first Epic will not include the Cherub. In fact, the poor dear will hardly be mentioned. 

This book, however, is about their birth- not their actual birth, of course, as that is actually quite gruesome to describe. No, I mean the events that accrued over a certain time, Cascading down into a climactic end that led to not only their story, but the stories revolving around theirs as well. In short, this entire book is the prologue. I guarantee, however, you might just find this story as equally compelling as the Cherub’s. Unfortunately, if you choose to skip this book and move on to the Cherub, I wish you good luck, due to the doubtless fact that you will be horribly lost. But who am I to stop you?

As believed in the Theory of Everything, all events are linked, and will have their own, crucial part in creating their own end.

But let us begin, shall we? I myself am growing bored of myself, and I’m writing the damn thing.


	2. The Open Window And The Hearth

It is said in ancient folklore that every creature bestowed with power and purpose is not born like a normal being. They are not birthed simply from a womb; they arise from their true element, bequeathed to those who deserve such a gift.

A special child came to a Prince during the month of Shade, which was the country’s fourth godly month. Typheus,The prince of the country, a younger man who had just begun his life of duty, came to find a shocking surprise after retiring to his chamber for the night. It was a little baby nestled on his pillow. The window was wide open, the doors blown off the hinges, as though by some unyielding gale. It was his only hint as to the origin of the babe’s presence.  

Typheus was filled with deep charm and love for the little one almost instantly. It was hard not be charmed by the little boy, actually; his round-cheeked giggle was heart-melting.

 He was a paternal man to his very core. He, who had lost his love to plague, could only see a potential son and feel only glee.

The little boy had eyes as blue as the sky, and as watery as they were, he did not cry. He merely gazed into the prince’s, as though he recognized him from some past life. It was a strange thing, to have his gaze rest on him. It brought no fear; quite the opposite, it was quite adorable to have him smile in such an innocent way. The prince, obviously seeing this as a sign from the Gods, adopted him as his son without a moment’s notice.

The boy would be known as the Heir.

The child of wonder, with eyes opened wide, was the star of kingdom quickly. Even the Queen found favor in him, for the short time that she saw him. Once his powers were deemed worthy of the throne, she forbade his presence. This was not uncommon in their culture. Queens were worshiped just as the Gods were, and if she ordered that she not see her son or grandson, it was to be so.  It pained Typheus on a deep level that was masked by his greater love for the blue-eyed Heir. He had a face of blankness when referring to the Queen, and his discontent with her cowardice was plain. The Heir was just a boy, after all. What harm could he cause?

Anyways, back to the boy. Yes, the boy was quiet, like a gentle breeze, and his father cherished him more than he cherished his Gods… which, in hindsight, was his ruination.

But that will come in time.

As one has already guessed, what one is witnessing is the classic hierarchy of royalty, as petty as such a thing is. Just as there was a family of royalty, richly blue as the rare strip of sky, there was its brother family. While the royalty were more scholars and intellectuals, the brother family was a collection of warriors whose banner was a brilliant, passionate ruby. They trained to defend the people, and, most importantly, the royalty, and did so with a skill unparalleled in any other nation.

The leader of this family, Hephaestus, would come to discover his own son during the month of Heat- the final month of the godly year. As he sat, contemplating the workings of a sonnet the prince had given him, a terrible shriek erupted from the hearth along with a tower of flame. There was a hiccup, and then a loud, heart-wrenching sob that echoed in the air. When Hephaestus investigated, he found (to very much his surprise) that a baby lay among the embers, seemingly unharmed despite the scorching heat. It was as if the child was born like a phoenix from the fire, with eyes as red as the twilight sun.

And oh, how the boy wailed. It was like he was witnessing Hell through those eyes. He howled in terror and agony on a daily basis, and no amount of coddling and calming music could soothe him. Doctors examined him, sacrifices were made on his behalf, and even the prince took a close look at the poor thing. Nothing was wrong physically, and yet nothing worked to ease his suffering. Eventually, Hephaestus grew weary and annoyed at the child instead of pitying, denounced him as a son for fear of shame, and called him his brother instead. He was not educated in the ways of affection as the Heir’s father; in fact, in his eyes, such affection was pathetic and unwise. However, he was human.

 As he was the prince’s guard, his brother would become the Heir’s. He, the servant and guard to the Heir, would be his Knight.

From the very beginning, the two boys kindled a strong bond. The moment they were introduced as infants, the Heir toddled over to the Knight and sat next to him, pulling and playing with his tiny tunic as he wailed and squirmed. Without any warning, the Heir clumsily hit him, mumbling infant talk. It was then that the Knight, after two years, finally stopped crying. It simply faded, leaving the blonde to stare at the other in puzzlement.

Suddenly, to Typheus’ and Hephaestus’ delight, they giggled and wrestled, clinging to the other when they grew too weary. Their relationship, despite concern, was not merely servant and master. Their relationship was of brothers, ones that would rather die than harm the other. Having no other names, they referred to each other as “Heir” and “Knight”, and in their eyes, it was quite all right.

Ironically, as time passed and the two grew, their personalities were swapped. The Heir became animated and loud, smiling like a hound in the midst of play, while the Knight became almost sobering in personality, calm and collected in nature.

Never, however, in the Knight’s many days did he show any sign of discontent around his prince. If anything, the Heir was his second god, whom he looked up to with all his adoration- or rather, down, being that he was a tad taller than the other. In the hour where witches crawl on all fours, he would steal away from his room on the farther side of the castle to see the Heir, deliberately disobeying his brother. Into his room he would creep, and then into his bed he would crawl, curling up next to the other for warmth until the blue-eyed prince awoke to greet him. The Knight loathed waking him from his dreams; they were very dear to his prince, he knew, and he could never bring himself to ruin the serenity that dwelled on his face.

On one particular night, when both boys were on the cusp of adolescence, the Knight dashed to the Heir’s room, long legs giving his steps a soft, flight-like pace. That night was the eve of the Heir’s birthday- and, as per tradition, that very next day, the gods would grace him with a new name.  The Knight craved the chance to be the first to hear the Heir whisper his name. Therefore, like he had so many years previous, he snuck into the Heir’s room, disregarding the loud creak of the oak wood door.

The Heir was still awake, writing swiftly in a small, black book, the shadows under his eyes stating he’d been awake all that night.  Upon hearing his door open, his head snapped up, round, blue eyes widening with alarm. However, upon seeing it was merely his crib mate, he smiled gleefully, placing his book away.

“Evening,” He greeted, voice a tad hoarse and drifting from lack of sleep. “I think it’s much too late for you to be here, boy. “ His smile was mischievous, eyes twinkling with boyish mirth.

The Knight rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips curling a tad. “Your name will be bestowed to you tomorrow; how can I not wish to see such jubilant occasion? Enough teasing, friend, or that gambit of yours will be punished,” he chastised, also having a lighthearted tone to his voice.

“By who- you?” The Heir retorted, brow rising.

“Absolutely.” The Knight leapt onto the other’s bed, causing them both to bounce and collide with each other.  Both let out a groan of pain, the Knight clutching his head and the Heir holding his jaw. After a moment, however, they burst into a fit of giggles. “Ah, sorry. I shouldn’t hurt you as a birthday gift. In fact, I will make it up by delivering you a present twice the girth of the one I hunted-“

“No, no. Don’t bother, Knight. I don’t believe I can survive another one of your ‘pets’,” He interrupted quickly. Though he treated each gift with the respect it deserved, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of another stuffed kill.

They fall into a small quiet, the Heir using the Knight’s back as a pillow. “…Tomorrow, my name will be known to all… It causes me to tremble with anticipation…” He lifts his head, the Knight turning to listen. “…What… what if my name is foolish, like ‘Figglewort’? Or even ‘Habersnapper’!?” He sighed, obvious, honest worry gracing his features. Only around the Knight did these concerns grow so plain, for his life required an almost statuesque façade of cheeriness.

Cupping his jaw with both hands, the Knight leaned forward, forehead pressing against the other’s. “I swear, you will have a name so splendid, all the land and sea will speak of it in song.”

The blue-eyed prince hummed, smiling thankfully up at the other. “Gods, I give thanks for this level headed boy to guide me,” he mumbled, laying his head upon the Knight’s shoulder. “…What say you, my Knight? What would you name me?”

The Knight flushed light pink, nuzzling the Heir’s thick locks. “Oh Gods, do not question me with such things. I’m definitely not gifted with intelligence, Heir. Besides, I am merely your vassal. My word means nothing to you, save for the ones I give in the face of war.”

Appalled by his out-of-character speech, the Heir scoffed, frowning. “You are a liar!! Hold your silvery tongue, for I am the only one who speaks true here- your presence is not merely one for the sake of my security. You are my brother, whom has loved me more than any other.” His eyes softened, orange undertones from the candlelight giving the color a deeper shade. “Hear me now, or forever be deaf- tomorrow, my life is to rest in your hands, just as I have yours resting close to my soul. Promise me I will never hear such blasphemy from you again.”

The Knight sighed softly, head tilting to look away from the other. He felt utterly moved by the other’s declaration; however, at the same time, he felt a sense of sadness. He knew his place, for it had been burned into his mind countless times. He was merely the sword that did the royal’s bidding- nothing more, nothing less. He loathed lying to the Heir, but he simply could not bear to tell the other the truth about their society yet.  “Yes…” He trailed off. “I do so solemnly swear.”  In a sudden burst, he smirked. “Besides, I jest. How could I not see myself as your equal? In fact, perhaps ‘equal’ should be saved for when your height is equal to mine, eh?” He teased, shoving the Heir playfully.

The Heir responded in kind to him, tackling him and attempting to pin the other until both were too exhausted to move another inch. Faces flushed and sleep weighing heavy on their bodies, they grasped the other’s hands as a silent oath boys tend to make. By the time the candle expired, both boys were sound asleep, hands still loosely clasped.

***

Morning peeked quickly, thankfully. Birds began to sing praise of the importance of the day, and the preparations for that night began as quickly as the servants could awaken.

As the Heir awoke, it was to the sound of the Knight’s steady, gentle breathing, chirping, and a soft ringing in his ears. As he sat up, disturbing the other boy in his sleep in process, he contemplated the importance of the day with an odd sense that one gets when one dreams. The out-of-body emotion that renders the human numb, though the sense is a comfortable one, it pulsed inside him, reminding him that today, he had a name.

Yet… he could not recall it. Not yet. He pondered this conundrum, a deep set frown upon his face.

“Heir…do you know your name yet?” came a grumble from the pillow.

“…No.”

“Hm. Well then… fuck.”

“Aye. Well put.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and in came the Heir’s father, grinning dazzlingly and balancing a small cake on a silver tray in his palm. “I am assuming that the swear came from the one still asleep…?” He smirked good-naturedly, eyes resting on the twisted form that was the Knight. “I cannot recall allowing you a slumber party, sir.”

The Heir’s face flushed deeply, head turning downward in submission. “Th-The blame rests on me, my lord…” he murmured.

His hair was lightly tousled. “My boy, I do not condemn you for sneaking the Knight in here. I envy you for having such familiarity with him,” He stated, taking a seat on the bed. “Wake, boy,” he added, nudging the blonde.

The Knight, grumbling lowly, did raise from the mattress, hair a tousled, white-blonde mess and a pout set firmly on his lips. “Your father is a cruel man.”

Ignoring him, the Heir’s father offered his son the cake. “For you, son. I made it with my own hands,” He declared, chest puffing out slightly with pride in his skills.

The Heir, however, was not impressed in the slightest. In fact, he groaned in displeasure. “Father, you know I hate sweets. You and the Queen eat it like they were your only sustenance, but I can’t stand the taste it leaves on the tongue…” He frowned. “The bile-inducing aftertaste reminds me of… displeasuring things.”

The Knight’s grumpy expression softened into a confused, slightly worried one. 

He received a gentle curve of lips. “Just upset that I’m not allowed to see my own Queen, once again-“

Typheus cleared his throat. “Enough of that, none of that. This is not a moment to bring past things up.” He interceded quickly, standing with the same speed. “Boy, this will be placed on your table later. I expect you to eat at least a slice of it…If only to please me, would you?” He looked like he was both desperate and weary, and it wasn’t even the afternoon.

“He will, my lord,” The Knight answered, hand settling on the Heir’s back. “…My young lord, I think it’s best you begin your preparations for the festival today, yes?” He said in a low voice.

The Heir’s smile suddenly grew three times its size, his darker thoughts abandoned. “Oh, absolutely!!! The one thing I love more than you is parties, dearest friend!!!” He teased, his grin practically glowing with mischief. His father’s eyebrows rose high into his brow.

The Knight made several, rather strange choking sounds, his fist clenching the Heir’s nightgown. Though they teased each other brutally in such a way constantly, it was very improper in the face of the Heir’s father. “Forgive me, my lord, I have no idea why he said that. I’ll hurry him along, don’t worry,” He stated in a rushed tone, rising from the bed only to bow. “Forgive me.”

The king-to-be made a low, humming sound in the back of his throat. “…Alright then. See to that. Wouldn’t want my boy to be late to his own party, now would he?” He turned on his heel, making his way to the door as though he’d been presented with strange, unsettling news. As he walked through the portal leading to the rest of the castle, he inclined his head to look at the boys. “…Please exercise proper behavior. We wouldn’t want the Queen punishing us all, would we?”

The Knight nodded, though the Heir seemed befuddled. What did he mean by that? What was wrong with a little fun?

Without another word, his father left, and the Knight, his posture relaxing, went to quick work getting the Heir up, washed, face prepared, and clothed. He did so with practiced precision, having taken the place of all his other personal servants due to his lord’s discomfort with anyone seeing him so literally naked.

It was at least half an hour later, however, that the Heir inquired about his father’s strange words. “…There is…a certain social order in the world outside this room, friend,” the Knight stated flatly, brushing the gentle curls of his companion’s hair. “You don’t know much yet. Two boys being so close is very… Unorthodox.  It’s best you don’t really know the details of it yet, I think. But your father was merely stating that the way we behave around each other would not bode well with the queen.”

“Well, damn what she says!! If she wants to govern my relationships, she can tell me that herself instead of these hush-hush references to her. I’m tired of my actions being guided by an old woman I’ve never seen before.”

 “…Such words, said by any other, warrants death, Heir.”

“…And will you kill me, then?”

The Knight’s hands flinched. After a small pause, he shook his head, releasing the Heir. “You look pleasant, my lord,” He complimented, voice displaying obvious nerves.

The Heir grinned, eyes holding a forgiving light. Even with such a tense morning, all was forgiven in his eyes.

The Knight, despite his seemingly low intelligence, did have an artistic quality that aided the Heir greatly when clothes were involved. Today, he wore his finest; a silk tunic, color as blue as his eyes, with silver thread woven around the sleeves and ends to resemble to wind from which he was born. Underneath, he wore a white wool turtleneck to hide improper body lines, and white leggings underneath. The sleeves to his undergarments reached far past the ones of his tunic, stopping at a slope to show his hands, which were adorned with white leather gloves. On his feet were slippers of the same blue, silver thread and jewels embedded into it, the toes slightly curved in a somewhat ridiculous manner. It was a very ridiculous outfit, in actuality. His was a tamed, curly mess, his bangs pushed back and held back by a silver circlet.

“Ah, but wait…the final touch,” The Knight declared, procuring the Heir’s most prized possession from his pocket- the Heir’s spectacles. Without them, anything more than ten meters away from the royal boy was completely blurry. “Very fine, Heir.” The blonde bowed, smirking a tad. “Now everyone can see your squishy face.”

The Heir’s so-called “squishy” face lit up with embarrassment. It was true- just as he’d been thirteen years ago, his pale face had roundness to it that the Knight lacked. While the Knight had high cheekbones and a thinner jaw, the Heir’s was more of an oval. His father assured him he would grow out of it, and the boy counted down the days until that occurred.

“Just go and get changed, you harpy,” he snapped, a definite pout set on his lips. “You tease too much.” And no sooner had he said that did he realize the irony in it.

The Knight caught it as well, and it brought forth a snort from him. “And thus the pot calls the kettle black, eh? Fine.” He let out a huff of air, nudging the other on his way out. “Fine. I’ll be going, then. Big Brother is probably worried sick about me. I’ll see you at the fair. Try not to-“

 “-Fall down the stairs, yes, I know.” The Heir smirked. “You say that every time you leave me, yet you seem to fail to practice what you preach.” Such words came in reference to the Knight’s notorious clumsiness, naturally; as a boy, he’d fallen down different sets of stairs so many times it was a wonder he hadn’t killed himself early on. Perhaps luck was to blame. Or, rather, the lack of unluckiness, considering having luck is generally the sign of oncoming doom.

“…Yes. That,” The Knight agreed, his own face growing a little pink. “…Don’t come to me unless you have a name, twit.”

The Heir merely grinned toothily. The Knight, eyes rolling for the umpteenth time, quietly shut the door.

A few minutes passed with the Heir merely standing in front of his tall mirror, examining his form with a sense of curiosity. So, this was the Second Heir to the throne…? He hardly seemed like much. He barely even knew how to use magic. He was short, a tad flabby, and even a bit dopey. It was forced upon him that the Knight was of lower intelligence, but he had underlying doubts of that. The boy seemed inexplicably bright; even more so in comparison to the Heir. He hated that the other had such an impression. Social class forced him to belittle himself in favor of the Heir’s own self-esteem, but all it did was leave a sour taste in his mouth.

He’d always wondered about the Knight. He was mildly aware of his lies, harmless as they were at times. He never asked about his relationship with his guardian. However, he did ask about the occasional limp that the Knight had, the small bruises he had on his face and body on a weekly basis. “Training sores”, he called them. He always assumed he spoke the truth about that. They were merely bruises from righteous training. However, the Heir began to suspect that story wasn’t entirely told. He never answered how he received them.

The Heir felt a sense of duty to the Knight, as previously established. Though the Knight was worried for the Heir’s physical being, the Heir worried for the Knight’s mental. As kind as he was, as playful and clever, the prince couldn’t help but feel as though that was the mask he was given, and he was choosing to wear it dutifully. He began to ponder the possibility of his real face ever showing, and then the possibility of the face he’s seen being that real one.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head as he moved away from the mirror. Gods, if began thinking too deeply about such things, he would have to fake his glee. And, naturally, the Knight would see right through him with his intense, red gaze…

Blast. Once again, his mind drifted. Enough, he thought to himself. Enough of this pondering about your friend. This is your day, Heir. You deserve to be as selfish as a court member’s daughter.

He giggled softly, sighing again with a much lighter emotion. He was merely lonesome. He did always become thoughtful when he was lonesome…

He stood by his door, alone in his bedroom, ready to take his leave. As he did, it finally dawned on him that today, as it so happened, was his birthday. And as it so happened, today, he would finally have his own name. He was intrigued- what would his name be? Something silly, like Barfsmelcht? No, no. Much too silly.

As he stood alone, in the quiet of his room, a gentle breeze came through his always-open window. Somehow, on that gentle breeze, his name came with it.

With a tearful, joyous expression, he realized his name.

Zillyhoo- The Winds.

Oh, how utterly fitting.


	3. The Strangest of Prayers

The blow was quick and decisive, as it always was. The hand, clenched tightly, was a practiced one, knowing two schisms and three bouts with the beasts that no longer plagued the land because of the owner’s might. It knew where to hit, how hard, and how many blows to deal so that the owner’s message was clear.

The owner, naturally, being Hephaestus, and the victim, naturally, being the Knight himself.

Except, of course, that the Knight shouldn’t really be called the Knight any longer. He wasn’t just a minor at lying to his prince- he was an expert. The key, he believed, was to believe in one’s lie so well that one must remind themselves that it was a lie to begin with. And his lies were astronomical. One of them being that he hadn’t already been given a name by his brother two days previously. 

“Rise, Caledfwlch. Stand like a man.”

The boy yelped like a pup as a boot connected with his gut, rolling him over onto his back and forcing the bile in his throat to be downed.

Caledfwlch, formerly and formally known as the Knight, coughed, blinking rapidly as stars danced in his vision. With a small whimper, he sat up, rubbing blood from his broken lip. He shot a dark look at his brother, hands gripping the knife strapped to his thigh. “Don’t give me that look. You deserve this. Now get up and fight,” came the response to his actions.

The boy, groaning lowly, did rise after a moment, legs wobbly and nearly purple from bruises- some old and some new. He was far too used to these punishments; therefore, his legs were far stronger because of it.

This may seem a tad abusive to outsider, but it simply wasn’t so. This was normal. Caledfwlch was the heir to the family head, and must reflect such a title. The family he belonged to was one measured by their strength, and it wouldn’t do to have a round-faced, doll-eyed, girlish boy sit at their throne. Strength had to be carved into his very core, even if it had to be achieved through daily, vigorous training; training that, yes, may seem like abuse. But it wasn’t so. From the age of five, Caledfwlch was molded into shape, like a ball of red clay, by his master, teacher, and brother. Hephaestus was, indeed, an artist. With his kicks, the Knight’s legs grew longer and faster. With his punches, his stomach became taught and arms became strong.

His brother didn’t knock him about randomly, of course. It was a daily regimen for Caledfwlch. It had been started late due to his lollygagging with Zillyhoo, which explained the intense, less-than-helpful beating.

The boy growled, eyes aflame with determination. He would prove himself today; he had no choice. He had a fierce loyalty to Hephaestus, despite all the wounds dealt to him by said man. There was no pain that could be given that Caledfwlch could not and would not bear, especially when the elder believed he could. He felt close to his brother through their strife, as though it was the only way they could connect was through the heat of battle. Caledfwlch had to prove to him that his artwork was not in vain.

There were times, however, where the battlefield was not the place of connection. Other times, merely the act of brutally teasing the other-one playing a far-fetched, even hair-brained joke and the other attempting to outwit the first without succumbing to the original plot- was enough to stimulate interaction between the two. Caledfwlch found those the most pleasant of times, because he was able to get a rise from Hephaestus on occasion.

He knew that no human was an iron wall. Emotions were a sad side effect to being born as Homo sapiens, and his brother (as much as Caledfwlch’s admiration for Hephaestus tells him it wasn’t true) was a human. He lived for the moments where the heat of the family flame didn’t burn their thread of connection, for when it was merely he and his brother. He was able to see the side that most didn’t- the side that loved him.  

He even caught him smiling once; or, perhaps, it was an illusion projected in his mind in hopes to have some sort of reciprocated affection. Hephaestus, outside of public words of praise and nods of respect, didn’t show much love for Caledfwlch. The Knight didn’t know the life that the Heir lived; the life of doting, loving fathers who held their children throughout their lives. The Knight knew of a guardian that cared for him by teaching him to care for himself, without the hugging, the kissing of the foreheads, the gentle words. It wasn’t a very far-fetched notion to say that the Knight had some envious sins stirring in his gut at the sight of the father and son. However, he felt no resentment towards his guardian- only grim understanding. The mind of the head of the red family was a labyrinth, stealthily built with traps and false turns and invisible walls.

But Hephaestus was not a heartless man; he did, in fact, care for his little brother… somehow. In some strange level of that maze. In a very minute way. Possibly ironically.

After all, he let Caledfwlch defend himself; that enough was an indication that he had training in mind instead of punishment. However, the boy had no hope in defeating the skilled lieutenant general. He himself was considered to just be a lowly squire still, despite his title being Knight and despite his branch being on the main one of their family oak. It would take years of this training to succeed in being on his brother’s level.

Caledfwlch lunged, grabbing his sword as he passed it and beating it roughly against his Hephaestus’ shield. “You can’t let your fury make you foolish,” Hephaestus scolded in his drawling, smooth-as-melted-iron voice, knocking him aside as if he was a tiny bird. The younger made a loud, frustrated noise, growing weary and impatient after the two hours they’d been fighting like this. For every lunge, there was a round of punches and stomps following it, and he was growing angrier and angrier at his diminishing progress.

He, taking his guardian’s words of advice to heart, analyzed the tall, sturdily built man before him- looked for weak spots (of course, there wasn’t any) and openings (which lacked as well). Finally, upon accepting his inevitable, humiliating failure as another means of punishment, he relented, dropping his sword and sinking to his knees. Great shame overwhelmed him.

Hephaestus scowled, brow furrowing with displeasure. “…Very good, I suppose. You knew you were no match…However-” He stabbed the stone with his own sword, eyes a cold, calculated red. “-this is the world’s greatest lesson. You fight until your last breath, and you will die in absolute glory…. Or you can live wishing you had.”

 Caledfwlch bowed his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to shame your teachings by leaving my room without permission; I merely wished to wish my young master a happy birthday,” he stated clearly, sullenly.

His brother’s form relaxed a tad, causing Caledfwlch to do the same. “…Pay this no mind. What’s done is done. You’ve paid with your wounds. It’s the Gods you have to beg to now. Rise, go find Carcino, and then prepare for the Heir’s festival. You’ll be competing in his name.” His words were short and calm, and had they not followed the worst beating of Caledfwlch’s week, he would have seemed relaxed for the first time.

The knight nodded, rising, hissing through his teeth as he limped away. He would have to bully Carcino for a healing draught as well, if he was to compete. No matter. As long as he could fool his brother into believing he was stronger from this, that the bruises were merely calluses, then he would gladly recreate the same violence with his cousin.

He knew, however, despite the elder’s statement, that the issue was barely budging, let alone dropped. He would hear a storm from him that night. No doubt the repeat of what the Heir’s father said, but with harsher words disguised in humor and a rant about the importance of the family name. Caledfwlch would be forced to remain stoic, as he normally was, and take the biting words as though they were beautiful poetry.

***

Caledfwlch sighed softly, whimpering a tad pitifully as he pushed the door open to Carcino’s late father’s study, glad to find that he was there solving a few equations on battlefield strategy instead of already at the prayer room. He hated walking down that hallway himself. Caledfwlch moved closer, observing the large numbers and messy scrawl of notes, the zeroes and crosses representing the friends and foes on a crudely drawn chart. He admired his cousin for his intelligence; it was something they both shared, yet Carcino had a far greater potential for it than he.

Carcino was a year younger than Caledfwlch, and had been named the same day as him. This was one of the many customs of the country, which dictated that all children of the same family are named on the same day as the eldest. More than likely, upon reaching the festival later that day, he would find the other members of the royal family with names. This was something most families knew; naturally, however, the Heir did not. In truth, it was not so much blamed on the Heir’s sheltering as it was lack of understanding and ignorance that people took advantage of. Lessons on law would not be given to the young prince until after he was named, and he was just simply not given clear answers to his questions. All were guilty of this, even Caledfwlch.  

Carcino was far different than his cousin; darker skin, with inky, black hair, which was so impossible to tame that he simply did not attempt to. His face was rounder than Caledfwlch’s, yet it was not enough to strike anger in their leader. Caledfwlch and Hephaestus were anomalies with their light skin and hair.

His eyes were what made Caledfwlch and him so close. Due to the Gods’ intervention, he possessed the bright red that his cousin did. As per custom, this made him somewhat of an understudy to the Knight; should the other fall, Carcino would take his place as the head.

Carcino, in his raspy voice, greeted the other shortly. “And unto you as well,” Caledfwlch scoffed, making a loud noise of pain as he leg tapped against one of the chairs.

That caught the younger’s attention immediately. “By the Gods, what the bloody fuck did he do to you!?” Carcino put down his chalk and rushed to Caledfwlch’s side, putting his arm around him and helping the blond to the armchair by the fireplace. “Or, rather, what did you do to invoke this?”

Caledfwlch waved his hand in dismissal. “Same old, same old. Nothing that can’t be fixed with one of your healing draughts,” He hinted, head resting on an arm.

Carcino rolled his eyes. “Subtlety is truly your master.” He walked over to an old, decaying cabinet, opening the aging, cedar doors to reveal a plethora of potions and draughts, each coordinated based on color and use. He took out a vial of runny, red liquid, corked with an iron stopper shaped like a cross. He took out the stopper, turning his head away from the fumes it released and approached Caledfwlch with it. “Here. Drink up, you ass. I’m not going to make another unless you’re dying.”

Caledfwlch feigned hurt, snatching the vial from Carcino and downing the contents of it before the fumes made his head hurt or turn purple or something. Immediately, he gagged, stomach lurching as his bruises and cuts accelerated through the healing process. He whimpered, slouching in his seat. “Ugh…Gods…I hate that.”

“Then don’t disappoint our lord Hephaestus. You _are_ his chosen one, after all. Plus, you should have eaten beforehand.” Caledfwlch groaned in response and flipped his thumb at him, rising from the chair and sighing with relief as his legs became easier to stand on. Carcino blew a puff of air out, crossing his arms. “Come on, we’re getting you cleansed before the Gods decide to lay eggs inside that empty head of yours.”

Caledfwlch rolled his eyes, but, of course, did agree. Who knew what they’d do to him at this moment? He could be struck by a book about antigravity. Or accidentally be stabbed by Carcino. It was best not to risk it. They both left the study, falling in step like soldiers do.

Cleansing, as they put it, was their time of worship. It was the time of the day- didn’t really matter the exact time- where they paid homage to their gods. Of course, there were many, many gods to do so. They chose certain gods to pray to, depending on what they desired. The Gods were expected to provide them with the desired power or thing in return. Today, Carcino suggested to pray to the God of War- воевать, considering Caledfwlch was simulating a battle later on. Caledfwlch argued with this a tad, suggesting that would lead to no good, but Carcino was far more religiously inclined than he- and that was saying quite a bit. “воевать is more for battle than a god of contest. It’s rude to ask to win a single contest, it’s far more polite to ask to destroy your enemies as a whole and practice restraint.”

“Right. That… obviously makes sense, yes.”

“No, you don’t understand. Let me explain…”

Caledfwlch listened to him, considering taking notes but realizing he didn’t bring paper. It was a dreadful shame, what Carcino said made more and more sense as he droned on about it.

Both boys were incredibly strong in their faith, as was the rest of their family. The Gods came first, even before their Queen… or so it should have been. The Queen, upon the day of her coronation long, long ago, declared herself a child of the Gods. Therefore, she was worshipped as if she was the flesh and blood version of them (hence her word being absolute law). The two even worshipped her, though for Caledfwlch, it left a sour taste in the back of his throat. He was certain he wasn’t the only one.

He dare not say a word, because he loved the Queen.

Carcino and Caledfwlch made their way down the long, winding hallway, head turning from the artwork littering the corridor. They held a similar theme- giant, million legged beasts ripping people to shreds, their gaping, beaked mouths crushing the skulls of children with horns, the grey stone soaking up the dim lighting surrounding them. In paintings, warriors were bursting from the skulls of the beasts, black flames enveloping them, their faces twisted in rage and anguish. They used to frighten Caledfwlch as a child, but when he was with a companion, they were easier to bear. They were warnings, stories. Those beasts were their Gods, and they hated those who disobeyed them and anointed those who loved them to the highest throne.

***

They arrived at their destination, only mildly surprised to find that it was already inhabited by other member of their family. Caledfwlch recognized a few, but his clan was so vast that he didn’t even know their names.

The room itself was impressive, and one might even call it peculiar. It had a high dome ceiling, with dirty, blackened glass for a roof, framed by gilded iron. The room itself was rather small and circular, containing dirty marble and bloodstains on the floor and walls from sacrifices. On the walls (besides stains) were runes of old prayers, some so elderly that certain parts had been worn smooth, only faint outlines dictating what they said. There were decrepit oak benches surrounding a hearth that glowed dimly in spite the bright sunlight out. It could fit, at a bit of a squeeze, around fifty people; however, considering that it was preferred to pray in a less crowded place, there were only about eleven there. The two boys made thirteen.

Carcino beckoned him to the front, closest to the hearth. This hearth being the very one Caledfwlch came from. As they sat, Caledfwlch felt a sense of unease much like the one he felt when he was in the hallway. It seemed to be a reoccurring incident, for the closer the blond got to his birthplace, the more his head would buzz with the white noise of his infancy. He could never quite make out the noise, and had no interest in trying to remember the source of the ailment. He was too concerned with the outcome.

Both boys sat on the carpet between the rows of benches, legs tucked underneath them and head bowed. Taking turns, they dipped their fingers into the murky black water before them in small trays and rubbed the bridges of their noses with them. “Do you want me to lead us, Caledfwlch, or should I go fetch our Seer?” Carcino murmured, hushed by the nature of the room. His eyes never left the hearth, as though he was transfixed by the simmering coals.

The other shook his head. “No,” He replied, eyes closing. “I know воевать well enough to say a prayer to it.” He bit his lip, eyebrows drawing together as they both bowed their heads. He waited, patiently, for his words to flow. Rushing a prayer meant asking for the wrong things, and thus led to disrespecting the Gods, and thus led to death.

His lips parted.

**“My sword is dipped into the pool of my God’s love**

**With it my blows reek of black tendrils of mayhem**

**With it they pierce the rotting hearts of my loathsome enemy who is putrid in all their false glory**

**They steal the children of my enemies and make them slaves**

**Make them their meals, for my god eats heathens**

**And my God makes my children their angels**

**And they do as their master commands**

**If my foe is my blood**

**Show them mercy**

**I am forbidden to.”**

***

After prayers were said and an offering of their banner was burnt, they quickly exited the room. No comment was made about Caledfwlch’s strange verses until he was already removing his clothes.  

“Caledfwlch, what was the meaning of that prayer…? The one from earlier, I mean,” Carcino finally mentioned, unfolding the tunic that had been chosen for him. “That was eldritch in every sense of the word.”

Caledfwlch hummed. “Isn’t that the point? You were the one that wanted to pray to the War God.” he grabbed his leggings from the other, pulling them up with relative ease. “Oh, Carcino, am I supposed to wear my armor today?”

“Ah, I don’t think so. It’d be a fucking shame if you did, considering there’s going to be beautiful women there. Wouldn’t want you to sweat through your damn knickers like that poor, royal blue bastard … Do you think he’s going to be there?”

“Don’t know, don’t really care.”

Carcino clucked his tongue, throwing shoes at the other for him to wear. “In any case, you’re diverting me! I didn’t know you could be so utterly… morbid. ‘Black tendrils of mayhem’? And I’m pretty damn sure you mentioned the Gods devouring children. “

“But that’s what they do, brother. They rape, slaughter, and devour as they please. They favor the youth due to their innocence and ability to disobey. Zazzerpan has been telling me all of this; you should pay more attention during our lessons.”

“Gods, what has Zazzerpan been putting in your head…? This is an old, old teaching.”

Caledfwlch shot him a dark look. “Don’t say that. I like him. For an older gentleman, he’s pretty sound in his logic. Besides, he’s teaching me how to do…you know.”

“The-? OH. Oh, yes, of course. That. Well, then that makes him alright,” Carcino retorted, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes I think you need to just stay with the Heir, let him rub off on you a little too.”

“You’d be the only one that thinks that,” The blonde sighed, sitting in front of his vanity, head propped on his hands. “Both my young master’s father and Hephaestus think that my master and I are… ‘consorting’.” He almost laughed at the way Carcino’s mouth dropped open. “I swear it, both reminded me of my place.”

The brunet’s eyebrows rose with disbelief. “Are you  _fucking_  joking? They insinuated you’d do something so… so…  _ungodly_?” He shook his head, making his hands busy by fidgeting with the washrag in the water bin by the vanity. “Honestly, to think that they would accuse you of… of  _being_  with the Heir like that….”

Caledfwlch became a tad tense. “What’s wrong with it if I was or was not? Now  _you’re_ the one being slightly old-fashioned. If I was, it was for the Heir only. If it came to where that was what he wanted of me, then I would be happy to oblige. It is my duty to provide for him whatever care he thinks he needs.” The other seemed to grow indignant at that. “Besides, that is none of your concern. The Gods will rip me to shreds if they see my actions unworthy. You wouldn’t treat me disrespectfully for doing my solemn duty, even if that did include a sin, would you, cousin?”

There was a slight pause, and Carcino grew from annoyed to uncomfortable. “…I-I… guess not,” He finally relented. “But I wouldn’t approve in the slightest!” He added, shaking a finger at the other. “…But I wouldn’t hate you, or even tell on you. That’s childish, and you are, for all purposes, my friend. Even though I lay awake at night worrying about your spiritual wellbeing.”

That made the blond smirk, finally. “I’m sure it does. Your snores display that well… But, no, Carcino. My relationship with the Heir is one of brotherhood. I would never desire him outside of that unless he bids me to feel otherwise.” The other boy sighed again, sitting awkwardly on Caledfwlch’s bed. Caledfwlch stood, gesturing to his clothing. “This is what you picked for me? Am I seriously meeting women here? If so, I feel pity for their hearts.”

His clothing consisted of a blood red tunic with sleeves that ended halfway on his forearm, with silver trim on the cuffs, ends, and collar, which encircled his neck and then cut into a v to show a thin, white dragon’s skin undershirt. His belt was a chocolate brown, his family’s symbol- a flame- imbedded in bronze stones. Under his tunic, he wore tight, dragon skin leggings that clung to his legs, and with those, deep brown boots with onyx buckles and belts. On his hands were equally dark colored, leather gloves, the backs of which featured the symbol he was given at birth- a cog. On his head was a laurel made of bent and magically softened iron, declaring his status as the Heir’s first servant and the future head of his family. The laurel was woven like tree limbs, with tiny apple blossoms peeking through molded leaves. Once he was dressed impeccably, he took a medallion from his desk and strung it around his neck. On it was the same cog symbol, etched into the silver by hand.

He hated his symbol with a passion. The uses of those little objects were to power clocks, nothing more.  Caledfwlch personally saw them as useless. What was the point of a clock, if not to demonstrate a particular time? All that needed to be known was morning, noon, and night, and one can simply look to the sky for that answer. Why was a simple, little cog his God-given symbol?

Carcino sighed. “Oh, yes, mock my talents at choosing clothes for you. Does the Heir do that too?” He retorted, his own clothes a dark grey and black version of Caledfwlch’s- without the laurel, of course. His symbol, however, was of two fish- or the symbols of fish, rather- circling each other. This was a holy symbol, and it secured him in a job as a holy man should his duties never be called forth. “I think this is a string- you dress the Heir, I dress you, and we are all just standing around playing bloody fucking dress-up while the Gods roll in Heaven praising our skills in dressing to the fucking nines.”

Caledfwlch snorted. “Amusing,” He commented, eyes rolling. He turned to the stand where he kept his sword. Like his brother, he polished it regularly, despite it being actually quite low quality. He took it from the stand, sliding the strap  of the sheath over his shoulder. “Well, at least the Queen will be pleased. Look at you, though.”

Ah, there was Carcino’s infamous scowl. “What the fuck’s wrong with black?! Black is a very powerful color, I’ll have you know!!”

“Yes. Because it represents death.”

“And?? Maybe I’m trying to be more traditional and demonstrate the God’s affections for Death!!”

“Ha, unlikely. You just don’t like wearing the same things as I do.”

“No, I happen to just really hate wearing red! It’s a boon for me, you know it’s impossible to understand. YOU have nothing to do with it!!”

“You are a liar, and we are both going to have our arses handed to us on a platter if we piddle around more.”

This thought dawned on both of them at the same time, and they both paled. “…Right…” Carcino swallowed. “Onward, yes? I don’t want to fight your brother, he’s vicious…” 

“He’s not vicious, he’s suave. A hero.”

“A tyrant.”

“Well, obviously. He’s a suave tyrant, of the most suave nature.”

The brunet shoved him, passing him and taking his arm to speed him along. “Get moving!! You’re going to be fighting Arisen, and you know how she gets with fighting.”

The blond frowned. Ah, so that explained the true nature of praying to воевать. He’d need all the help he could get against her. She worshipped death like it was its own religion.

***

A short horse ride away from the grand castle was an open field perfect for the day’s festivities. Being the afternoon, it was already filled with peasantry and noble alike, though the two didn’t mingle much. The color blue surrounded them. It was on the banners, the coverings of the stables, the stands, worn by the peasantry. The sweet smell of confectionaries overwhelmed the boys as they dismounted form their steeds, giving the reins to the stable hand. It was crowded; however, the ocean of people parted for the two.

 It was out of a fear. The red family was considered something to be meek around, what with their power and skills unrivaled by the masses. Even the children were considered dangerous. No, forgo that statement. The children were considered the most dangerous.

“Come along, Caledfwlch. We have to find the others and greet them,” Carcino stated, tugging on the blond’s sleeve. Caledfwlch nodded, falling in step with the younger, eyes flitting about warily.

Loud laughter transformed to hushed murmurs as the light-haired Knight walked by, head held high and face blank. He was their prodigy, their future military might. He would have the power to draft their young men, just like Hephaestus had previously. The older man had led 5,000 of their husbands, brothers, and sons into battle against the beasts that lived outside the walls, and while he returned victorious, he also returned with less than a thousand of them.

Carcino wasn’t the one they were parting for.

Their family’s tent was a dark red, Hephaestus’s crest a brighter red on the flap. Carcino lifted up the flap, letting Caledfwlch in first. They were both greeted with loud yelling that made them both groan. It seemed as though the Heir and his cousins took over their tent.

The Knight felt a surge of joy upon seeing his friend. The morning discomforts were forgotten in his mind, and the bright blue eyes reflected every ounce of his happiness. It made Caledfwlch want to take a hold of him, wrap his cloak around his body, and keep him warm and safe and permanently in that state of bliss forever. It made his heart swell until he was worried it would simply burst.

He mused in that split second. After all, thoughts go by in the human mind so much faster than what one thinks. Did the Heir feel the same? Did his Heir cherish him as Caledfwlch did to him?

It was then that the Knight realized he’d realize his friend’s name. The Winds, Zillyhoo. The simple named made his façade start to crumble, despite his presence in front of others. He stood before his companion, neither no longer nameless. Now, Caledfwlch knew everything about the other.

It was a terrible thing, he realized. A truly terrible thing, knowing everything about another human being. There was no secret, no mystery behind those blue eyes. And yet, when met with Caledfwlch’s red, Zillyhoo only knew a familiar stranger. He knew a creature, a shadow, born to protect and fight and die, with wings that aided in shielding him and a face that imitated a human, and he accepted it as a man without truly seeing. He didn’t know a Caledfwlch that wasn’t there to provide for him. He wouldn’t know until much later that such a man even lived. There was much about the law that Zillyhoo wouldn’t approve of, and there was much that he wouldn’t understand. This would be doubly so when applied to Caledfwlch himself. And that would never change.

Zillyhoo grinned, dashing up and tackling him, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Hello, Caledfwlch!!” He greeted, teasingly, as though he was catching the other in the act of stealing or masturbating.

Caledfwlch paled. He knew his name? Slowly, his eyes moved to the two other royalties in the room, and he glared darkly. They must have found out and told him.

Zillyhoo’s smile wavered at the other’s sheepish expression. “I’m not mad, friend. You wanted to wait until I had my name, right? So that we could tell each other?”

“…Right.” Caledfwlch agreed , smiling a bit. Of course he would immediately lie to his Heir. “So that is it? Your name? Zillyhoo, the Wind. Fitting, if not incredibly obvious. I should have placed bets and made more theories,” He taunted right back, knocking his head lightly against Zillyhoo. “I’m glad you’ve finally made an identity, friend. I’m glad our bond is so thick that I knew it automatically.”

“Ha. I hide nothing from you, you know that.”

Carcino rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, very touching, yes. That’s all fine and dandy. Congratulations, your Majesty. Now get the fuck out, the lot of you,” He deadpanned, storming up to the blue family.

One of John’s cousins stepped forward. She had tanned skin- lighter than Carcino, but darker than Zillyhoo- and wild, ebony hair, only tamed by the webbed veil she wore that pulled her hair away from her forehead. She must have been competing, because she wasn’t dressed in a gown like the other women were meant to. She wore a cerulean tunic lined with black trim, leather chaps underneath the tunic and dark grey riding boots on her feet. Her breasts were bound by her chainmail and wool undergarments, but they were large enough to still be visible- her only visible disadvantage. She held her riding gloves in her right hand, her symbol- the Spider- sewn into the leather. She wore heavy kohl and deep blue lipstick, and her ears were decorated with gold and gems. Coupled with her defined leg muscles and arms, her appearance stated that while she was an obvious warrior (and, for this festival, a jouster), she held her looks in high esteem.

Her body language exuded confidence; confidence that might have been a front and excuse for her obvious arrogance. Her right hand on her hip and her left twirling a lock of her hair, she regarded Carcino with a sly grin. “Are you really going to dismiss my idea, Carcino? That’s not fair. And, as your better, I demand you stand the hell down,” She ordered, smile shifting to a threatening glare. She was correct in correcting Carcino. As a royalty, she was his superior, and he ordering her about was a ballsy move.

Carcino growled, taking a threatening step forward, obviously not caring in the slightest. Zillyhoo, however, yelped and stood between them before swords were drawn. “Now, now, guys!! Calm down, this tent has too many people in it for a fight to end well.” He smiled at his cousin, eyebrows drawn together. “Aha, Arachnid, remember, we don’t kill our comrades.”

Ah, Arachnid. Figures she’d be named after her beloved spiders. Caledfwlch had only known her as the Thief, her title given when her birth was due to her mother stealing a married noble from his dying wife, like a spider snatching prey once it happened into her web.

She pouted, crossing her arms. She did, however, relent. “Fine…” She muttered darkly, shooting a dark glare at Carcino. “But only because his Majesty said so.”

“Aye,” Carcino agreed, taking a step back. “It’s our Heir’s birthday.”

Zillyhoo smiled again. “Heh. Greetings, Carcino,” he greeted as well, wiggling his eyebrows to incite a reaction from the other. When he got it- sputters and glares- he turned his head, regarding Caledfwlch with a look of relief. “Already I have to uphold the honor of my nobles. I’ll make a wondrous leader, eh?”

The Knight nodded, pulling Carcino away another two feet and placing a hand on the Heir’s shoulder. “Come on, friend. Get the Thief and her friend out of here, you know my family needs our tent,” he said to him in a pleading tone. “And you know that Arachnid and Carcino don’t fancy each other in the slightest.”

Zillyhoo’s eyebrows knit together in thought. “…Aye, aye…You’re right,” He sighed. “But I…well, I wanted to see you before you went off and won for my glory.”

The blond smirked. “Isn’t there some etiquette against that?”

“…Shut up.” Zillyhoo shoved him, hiding his laugh and embarrassed blush as he took Arachnid’s hand. “Come on, Centaur. Let’s go get you two signed up for the games!”

“Right-o, that’s the spirit, Zillyhoo!” Arachnid laughed a cackling laugh all the way out of the tent, winking at the two boys in a taunting fashion.

“Hehe. Bye, Caledfwlch! Bye, Carcino!”

A tall, hulking figure that had been silent walked past the two soldiers, huffing and sweating quite a bit, no doubt from being a spectator to their familiar dealings with each other. The two gave  each other looks of realization. That’s the poor, blue bastard. He’d grown quite a bit since they last saw each other, and even that was a polite way of putting it.

Carcino mouthed a profane word of surprise when Centaur passed. “Gods, I didn’t know a thirteen-year-old could grow to be so massive,” He muttered once they were alone. “And for starters, who do those bastards think they are? Just barging in… Fuck, I bloody fucking hate Arachnid.”

“You don’t hate anyone, bite your tongue.” He sighed, stretching his limbs. “Besides, it was Zillyhoo’s idea to come in here. He wanted to tell me his name. I suppose he didn’t realize our bond would enable me to learn it just by meeting his gaze. Majyyk is a very peculiar thing sometimes, wouldn’t you say?”

The brunet hummed. He copied his cousin, eyes flitting to the opening of their tent. “He barely even spoke to me,” he commented, referring to the Heir. “I know we hardly know each other…however-”

“He said hi, didn’t he?” the Knight interceded.  “Plus, he teased you like he always does. Come now, Carcino, have mercy. He’s easily distracted when surrounded by people. If you want to become more familiar with our Heir, then you should speak to him more at the formal ball tonight.”

“Ah, yes… that’s happening tonight, isn’t it?”

“If the Gods permit it.”

“Amen.”

***

Little by little, the members of their family that were competing leaked in. This being a noble-only competition, there were only a few of them.

Of course, there was Arisen, dressed in a maroon tunic that stopped at her knees, and her leggings were a dark grey and loose around her legs. The symbol of the Ram rested on her iron breastplate. Her hair was pulled back like Arachnid’s had been, but with no veil. Instead, she wore a maroon hijab, only a couple wild curls resting over her forehead. It was a conservative, but completely acceptable action in the red family. After all, hair was not worth debate or regulation. And with women so uncommon in their family and often far more accomplished (read that as frightening), they were treated just a well as the men.

Unlike Arachnid, she wore no makeup at all. Her natural beauty showed through her maroon eyes, a haunting, melancholy gaze reflecting her years training in the Dead Fields.

Because of her beauty, Arisen had a history of suitors coming to her for her hand. Her name before she’d been given a real one had been the Maid, simply because she held her purity like it was a prized treasure. Of course, no one questioned what became of her suitors when they attempted to disturb her meditation… It was simply up to the imagination.

Following her was Armageddon and Toreador. Both were barely holding legitimacy to the red family’s name with their yellow and light brown colors, respectively. Still, despite their low colors, they still proved to be as able as the next man, and that was enough for Hephaestus to give them the same rights as a pureblooded member.

Armageddon was a lanky boy, thin, but quick in every sense of the word. He was the most intelligent, analytical mind the family had, and it showed clearly in his sharp, gold eyes. In fact, quick and sharp were two words to describe him perfectly. Sharp eyes, sharp jawline and cheekbones. His hair was a inky, tamed, spiked mess, styled in a way that ten years prior would have been considered a feminine bob. Styles did change very quickly in their land, and he pleasured in past styles. It showed in his clothing, also. His dark yellow tunic touched the ground, hiding his loose, airy trousers and slippers. His sleeves, decorated with red lines and swirls, ended at his wrists, black gloves covering his hands. His hood was up, shadowing the top half of his face, but not so that made him seem ominous. Sunlight was not a luxury he was given often, and it no doubt burned him if he was out too long. He was a wizard in training (though he’d been given a name two days before, he’d had the name Mage, the second tier in becoming a wizard), full time, whereas Caledfwlch and Carcino were merely taking classes. He spent his time poured over books, learning, learning, and learning more still.

Toreador was an entirely different matter. Where Armageddon was sharp, he was soft. Round face, heavier set (which, when compared to the other, was only a bit heavier than Carcino), with a dark tan and lighter, dark brown hair, styled as a messy Mohawk. He wasn’t as smart as Armageddon- one would even argue he was the least intelligent there- but that didn’t mean he was an imbecile. In fact, where he lacked in analytical sense, he gained in common sense and compassion. He was also the most dedicated out of all of them, training to be both wizard and soldier- a Page, the first tier of wizardly status.  His stature wasn’t impressive, and neither was his confidence, but when he spoke, Carcino and others listened.

 Caledfwlch, however, didn’t have much patience for him, and often ignored him. It was partially due to Toreador’s obsession with proving himself to the future head by trying to outsmart him, partially due to Caledfwlch’s apathy towards half of his own family. Any interaction longer than a minute usually ended up with Caledfwlch humiliating him, and having one of Toreador’s companions soothe the brown-eyed boy.

He was dressed as Arachnid was, excluding the gold jewelry, and his colors were variations of deep reds and browns. In his hand, he held his jousting lance, painted with whimsical colors.

Toreador smiled meekly at Carcino. “Ah…Hello, cousin. And… my lord,” His lips pulled thin when addressing Caledfwlch, and he only nodded once.

“Oi.” Caledfwlch had begun to busy himself with stretching. “Oh, Arisen, prepare to meet your maker today. I’m going to wipe the floor with you, girlie,” He declared coolly, craning his neck to look at her.

Arisen merely blinked. Emotionlessly, she plainly stated, “We are fighting on grass, not floor. Secondly, actual skill will be required to defeat me.”

Armageddon snickered, crossing his arms and leaning closer to the girl. “Hehe. You tell ‘im, AR.”

Carcino rolled his eyes, fingers rubbing his temples. “You are all spoiled, petty children, and I hope the Gods strike you down for being sarcastic, sassy shits to each other.”

“Well. Calling the pot black, kettle?” The Mage snickered at that as well, nodding to the Knight.

Suddenly, however, Armageddon paled. “Ah, Arithen, you did remember to go and cleanthe, didn’t you?” He asked quickly, that trademark lisp he possessed coming forth. It was his one weakness, and it often rendered him silent.

She nodded. “Of course. I would not forfeit the chance to beg for mercy from the gods.” She paused a beat. “I’m assuming you have chosen the God of War for this situation?”

Both Carcino and Caledfwlch stiffened. She always had a tendency to predict actions they’d taken. “Uh… aye, aye, I- we- did,” the lighter haired admitted, standing slowly. The other ran a hand through his hair, turning his head from the scene unfolding in an attempt to distance himself from it.

“That won’t help you. In fact, I’m quite positive your words doomed us all.” Her face was so utterly passive, eyes so bleak and emotionless. It sent chills down Caledfwlch’s spine. Did she know the words he’d said? Something in her eyes- those damned, empty eyes- told him yes. She exuded death from her, thanks to her time in the Dead Fields, and whatever words of doom she spoke, they were met with sobering silence.

Naturally, there wasn’t much talking after that. Light food was brought to them, and they all ate in relative silence. Armageddon stood close to Arisen regardless of her words, and Toreador was too shaken and unnerved by Arisen’s declaration to even bother trying to speak any more than what was necessary. They were sure that he wanted to say far more than just the greeting he was allowed, but at that moment, nobody cared.

Nerves began to set in as a messenger entered the tent, telling them that it was their turn to be counted and put into their respective contests. The feeling spread through everyone visibly (save for Arisen, of course, who seemed utterly content and even excited for once).

Carcino hung back with Caledfwlch, swallowing thickly. “…I love her-“

“-But she’s nuts, I know,” He finished, tightening his belt. He glanced at the shorter, a tiny smirk crossing his lips.

“Maybe if we’d prayed to the God of Contest-“

“Oh, fuck you, just  _fuck you_.”


	4. Zillyhoo Learns A Grave Lesson

The field was filled with soldiers, from both the red and blue families, standing proud amongst each other, conversing civilly. As Zillyhoo sat above them all, the colors almost molded into a vague purple. It was dizzying, to say the least.

A hand clasped his shoulder, which made him jump in his seat. “Hello, son,” His father greeted, taking a step toward his own throne and perching himself on it. He was accompanied by Hephaestus, who nodded at the boy in acknowledgement and stood next to him. Both were dressed as expected; his father in rich, deep blue colors, an elegant, fur-lined, navy cloak slung around his shoulders, which covered his left arm. He held an ivory pipe between his teeth, unlit for the time being, as he made himself comfortable.

The Heir made a bit of a face at the object. He hated that damn pipe; the smell of his father’s beloved tobacco was thick and it hurt his nostrils to breathe the smoke in.

Hephaestus, despite his own expression of discontent, lit his father’s pipe regardless with a touch of his finger. Though not as ornate as his master, the elder brother was dressed as though he was expecting war any moment- trousers that were adorned with plates, gauntlets with enough steel to stop even the strongest of arrows, a breast plate of thick leather, a thick, black belt strapped tight around his waist, and glimmering studs of deep gold holding all of it together. His Trojan helmet rested loosely on his hip, held there by his maroon, woolen-clad arm. Of course, patches of honor and valor were sewn into the sleeve, depicting his kills and conquests. Zillyhoo had the suspicion that the rest of his armor was close by, hiding from them all. Said armor was legendary; all a brilliant gold, shining like the sun’s rays, forged from the scales of dragons and enchanted to withstand the greatest Majyyk.

Last, but not least, gleaming at his hip, his infamous sword Caliborn rested. A gleaming gold with encrusted rubies that were said to bleed by themselves, it was a harbinger of death and destruction to all who meet its sharp edge. Some say that it was made for the Gods themselves, but bestowed upon man for their amusement. Hephaestus used the weapon to slay the Dragons of Libra, the two-headed Cyclops of Gemini, and even the sea beasts that plagued the waters. From Zillyhoo’s knowledge, Caliborn was an inherited weapon; when the time came, Caledfwlch would take the weapon from his brother and inherit his title.

Hephaestus inspired unease with just a look from his eyes, the brilliant red far more frightening, and far more intense than Caledfwlch’s, despite being the same hue. It was the context behind them, he thought. Those eyes have seen death and victory unlike any have ever before.

Zillyhoo had always held a deep respect for his father’s servant, and with that came a sense of awe. He was like an eternal shadow, silent and astute in the older man’s company. And yet, somehow, he shone like flame, illuminating the other man at his side. The Heir often wondered if that was how he and the Knight appeared to be, and hoped so. His father and Caledfwlch seemed so… in tuned with one another, as though they shared a mind. What the king-to-be did, so did Hephaestus, and Hephaestus never once questioned the orders given to him by his General. Typheus complained that he wasn’t as close to his Knight as Zillyhoo was, but not even the Heir, who was so unobservant, could deny their connection.

Caledfwlch’s brother merely took his stance by Zillyhoo’s father after lighting his pipe, any complaint he had unspoken. He leaned a tad against the heavy throne his master sat upon, one hand on the hilt of Caliborn. In such familiar company, he showed a lax, yet somehow still vigilant nature, like a lion that was quiet until it leapt for the kill. He was a master of contradiction, that man.

Someday, Zillyhoo thought with a smile, he would be his father, and Caledfwlch would be his brother. Oh, the journeys they would take together! The adventure, the wonderful things, the greatness they would experience together… how bright their futures were.

“Master, your son is day dreaming again,” Hephaestus commented, not turning from his observation of his family. “You should stomp that out before he dreams up monsters.”

Typheus snorted, reaching over and ruffling Zillyhoo’s locks. “Leave him be. Children need to day dream to stay imaginative. Besides…whatever he’s imagining must be pleasant, eh? Look at that doe-eyed smile.”

Zillyhoo jolted at the touch, turning to his father with a startled noise. “O-Oh, my apologies… Were you saying something?”

“Not at all. Look sharp, though. The games are starting soon.”

“Of course! Where’s-?”

“The Queen has opted to miss the games. She will be here tonight, at the party,” His father quickly interrupted, clearing his throat once he was done. He smiled at the Heir, lips tight and eyes almost bitter in nature.

Zillyhoo’s eyebrows knitted together, lips turning downward in a frown. Little was able to upset his father; in fact, nothing could make him as cross as the topic of the Queen. He hardly ever spoke of her, in fact, and any mention of her earned an immediate subject change.

Before he could say anything more, however, a new color introduced itself to the field, sweeping over it like the twilight over an ocean.

“Ah, yes… the Complacency keep true to their names. Late once more, they are.”

If Zillyhoo was the blue of the sky, and Caledfwlch was the red of the evening sun, then she was the purple of the night that washed them both away in muted grace. Zillyhoo found himself breathless, rising from his seat and leaning on the railing to get a better look.

Her beauty was unfathomable. Was she incredibly attractive? Perhaps, depending on one’s opinion. Her entirety, however, could only be described as heart-shatteringly beautiful. Like a Rose, bathed in twilight, she was subdued in her hues; her eyes, like vivid orchids taken from the Dead Fields, shone under her snowy blonde hair, cut short in an almost scandalous fashion. Her lips were painted black, like sunflower seeds, her face made pale as paper by makeup.

Her gown was a combination of purple and black, the bodice black and violet striped, with elbow length, black sheer gloves that clung tight to her skin. A thin, golden cord headed by a skull of a God (which was either an audacity or admirable accessory), her deep violet skirt like an overturned blossom, hiding her lower half entirely.

Zillyhoo knew that it was love that he felt for her almost instantly. When he searched for that emotion’s truth, he was surprised to find that it was not a romantic love, but more than that. It was every range of love, like seeing something you thought you’d never see again, and finding that it was better than you could have ever remembered. An exciting love.

“Father, who is that?” He asked quickly, not turning to address Typheus for fear the girl would vanish. “The girl with the short hair, in front of all those people in violet.”

Typheus raised an eyebrow, looking over Zillyhoo’s head at the female he was speaking of. A charming smile came to his lips. “Ahh, yes. I figured as much. Her? Why, that, I believe, is Oglogoth. She is the daughter of Cetus, the former leader of the wizarding family.”

The Heir cocked his head to the side, pouting. “What an unfortunate name… Wait, ’former’? What do you mean former? Is Oglogoth the head?”

Hephaestus was the one to answer his question next. “Oglogoth, boy- and yes, former. Cetus has grown ill from consuming spirits, and therefore she turned ownership of the family to Zazzerpan, her right hand man and advisor.” he explained, grimacing. “Temporarily,” he added.

As though on cue, Zazzerpan literally appeared as though from thin air, taking a place by her side. He wrapped an arm around her, smiling grandfatherly- almost as charmingly as Zillyhoo’s father’s smile- behind his long, silvery beard.

Typheus clucked his tongue. “Look at him, schmoozing with her like he was her father… Her mother would be throwing a fit if she knew what he was up to with her daughter.”

“Damn right. I’m ready to off that slimy cretin myself. He’s been telling my boys some dangerous things…” Hephaestus agreed, crossing his arms.

“…What has he been doing, exactly?” Zillyhoo was old enough to have a name; surely he was old enough to learn about the social affairs of the adults.

The two men exchanged looks, the servant giving a bit of a shrug. “Well, Zillyhoo… Zazzerpan is trying to take over completely by having Oglogoth give up her heritage. See, there’s a limit to what he can actually do in his position without having to confer to Cetus or Oglogoth first, yeah? If Oglogoth was to forfeit her inheritance, then Zillyhoo would gain power completely; which, naturally, is that snake’s goal.” Typheus told him.

“No doubt trying to convince her by passive aggressively telling her she’s not worthy of taking over, I’ll bet you a few coins on that,” Hephaestus added, scoffing.

“But doesn’t Zazzerpan have a lot of influence already? I mean, the Complacency teaches every Majyyk user in the kingdom, peasant and noble alike…” Zillyhoo wondered, biting his lip.

“That is true, John. You see, your teachers are not actually considered amongst the royals. Think of the line as you and I first, Caledfwlch and Hephaestus second, and Oglogoth and Cetus third. The violet family is meant to be masters of the Gods’ Gift- Majyyk. They are all born with the ability to use it, whereas only the children born of Majyyk or Majyyk users can use Majyyk- like you and the plus hundred people who have parents who have the ability in their blood.

“With the Complacency, they are nobles, not royalty. They gained power by being blessed by the Queen. There are nobles-who truly call themselves the Learned, but are called the Complacency by the masses- all over the country thanks to her. Some wield magic, some don’t, yet have the ability to teach it, and they have power over the common folk who live on their land. Alas, they have no influence in royal matters like war or political changes; only what goes on with the peasants. Even the lowest royal can overturn them. Outside of teaching you youngsters how to harness your gifts, Zazzerpan had no true power before Cetus gave him the right to oversee the family.”

The Heir nodded, scratching his head in vague understanding. “Oh, so that means he’s being all fatherly and nice about it so Oglogoth won’t kick him out! It’d be upsetting to the Queen if Zazzerpan was forced away!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Excellent analysis! Yes, that is the case. It seems, however, she’s accepting of his reign for now. She is, after all, unmarried, and only thirteen. It is a wise decision.”

Hephaestus grunted. “Wise? No, I’m wise. She’s got the mind of an Elder. Her age doesn’t stop her from being the most talented Seer I’ve ever seen. I’ve witnessed her conjure things that Hell wouldn’t even send to haunt us…”

The Heir whistled in admiration. So she was a Seer? That was a much esteemed wizardly level. He never doubted that a female could be powerful- quite the contrary, thanks to Arachnid’s terror-inducing psychopathic tendencies toward violence, he couldn’t think that women were inferior even if he so desperately wanted to- but he didn’t think a girl so young could be so great in skill.

He had to speak to her, if only to convey his admiration. Perhaps he’d even wish her luck, should she be competing.

“Yes, I suppose she’s very- Zillyhoo, what are you doing? The games will start momentarily- Zillyhoo, get down from there!! Don’t you dare jump- young man, by the Gods-!”

Both adults watched- one with parental worry, one with slightly amused apathy- as the Heir leapt over the railing and fell, conjuring up a gust to cushion his fall.

“Well… that’s to be expected. At least he’s learned how to conjure up wind from that old nut,” Hephaestus commented flatly. He earned a look that was either irritation or acquiescence- he couldn’t tell.

***

Imagine Oglogoth’s surprise when the young Heir came whisking towards her.

One would be correct in saying that the first sentence was a lie, because she was not surprised in the slightest. She’d been watching him in the royal stands, and observing him observing her. Despite being royals, she’d never met the boy. Heard of him, yes, but never seen him. She always pictured him to be like a princess stored away in the castle towers, never allowed to actually view the outside world despite it being…well, right outside. In fact, this would probably be the first time he’d ever actually accept her existence.

That was alright, as the Heir was quite endearing.

“Madam!! Madam Oglogoth, please, forgive me, but I couldn’t help but notice your beauty and I wanted to be the one to congratulate you-!!” Zillyhoo exclaimed, shamelessly quoting Caledfwlch’s usual beginning lines, eyes bright with mirth and a giggle punctuating his words.

He was almost immediately blocked by two boys, both of whom towered over him. Both were in fine tunics, deep violet and purple, yet only the purple one (who was slightly shorter than the deep violet) wore a cloak and ornate jewelry. The deep violet one wore paint that resembled a court jester’s, which was the most prominent thing about him at the moment. Both extended their arms to create a wall between their lady and the future king.

“Pardon, sire, but I don’t care who you _think_ you are; you do not simply approach our lady in such a fashion. Maybe you should try again,” one snapped. He voice was wavy, with an accent Zillyhoo couldn’t place. His hair was slicked back, a bright streak of purple dashing through the middle, like lightning. He wore heavy framed glasses that sat on a straight, thin nose and slightly obscured his sharp eyes (also that purple color). Zillyhoo was almost taken aback by how utterly purple this character actually was, in fact. It seemed to be on every inch of his person. “Well?! Apologize for saying such a rude statement and greet her properly-!!!”

“Hey now, cousin, don’t get too riled up. I’m pretty sure this guy didn’t mean no harm. Just tryin’ to make Lady Oggy smile,” The one with the makeup interjected, talking over his friend with a thick, slurred voice that reminded the Heir of honey. Upon closer look, the one with the face paint wasn’t shielding Zillyhoo from Oglogoth- he had a firm hand fisting the front of the purple one’s tunic, keeping him from engaging Zillyhoo. His arm was flexed with effort, displaying the one thing the purple boy didn’t possess; bulging biceps, decorated from the shoulder to the wrist with ink paintings so intricate that the entirety of the composition was lost. He looked powerful; far too powerful for his relaxed stance. His other features came to light; dark skin, untamed curls, a Roman nose, and lips that made his smile seem twice its actual size. Depending on whom one spoke to, Zillyhoo would imagine that behind the makeup the boy was quite handsome.

The clown-faced boy inclined his head to the Heir, smiling in a relaxed manner that Zillyhoo had never seen before. “Hey, there, brother. My cousin here’s got a little bit of a point. You don’t all up and approach a lady like that, that’s mighty rude,” He cooed, eyes gentle. Finally, he turned to the woman they were hiding, the smile stretching wider. “You want me to get all these young ‘uns signed up, my fine sister of mine, while this good ‘ol boy does things proper?”

Silent until now, Oglogoth chuckled. “Yes. Please do, my dear,” She said, her voice as cool as water. Worming her body out of Zazzerpan’s grip, she pat the clown’s shoulder. “You may go now, Zazzerpan. Please go find your seat with the rest of your…peers,” she ordered so politely it had to be sarcasm. She even waved him away.

Zazzerpan nodded proudly, despite the manner of his dismissal. “But of course… my lady.” His voice was nasally, and hoarse, as though he’d been screaming not too long ago. In fact, Zillyhoo was fairly sure Zazzerpan had to be at least as old as the Queen, if not older, with his wrinkled skin and long, wispy grey hair.

Due to his long, plum-colored robes, he seemed to glide across the grass. He took the Heir’s hand and shook it with his own. “Happy birthday, son.” His eyes twinkled, his other decrepit hand patting his shoulder. “Gods bless the royal family.”

Zillyhoo, with his new information in mind, could now plainly see the hidden bitterness in those words. It was that twinkle, no doubt, that distracted him. “…Gods bless the people,” Zillyhoo answered, a bit unsure.

“I said you could leave, Zazzerpan. I believe the future king wishes to attempt to woo me,” Oglogoth teased, a pleasant, amused smile stretching her lips.

The Heir blushed vividly. “What? N-No!! Of course not, that’s not why I-!!” But, alas, it was too late. Zazzerpan was gone. _Wonderful. Now I’m a potential threat, too,_ He thought, grimacing.

Both of the other boys snickered (though, for the one in the makeup, it was more of a low honking for some odd reason). “Now, now, boys. Be nice to the old man. You might stress him out too much, and then what little hair he has left will fall out of his shiny head. He can hide it all he wants with that ridiculous hat of his, but you’re already balding him,” The Seer told them, smirking now instead of the pleasant smile, her expression far nastier than it was previously. She patted their backs, giving both of them kisses to their cheeks when they bent down to receive them. “Go on, then, Capricious. Take the others to be signed up, since we are rather late. Caligulas, kindly spy on Zazzerpan to make sure he isn’t causing trouble for the rest of us.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Of course, baby doll.”

Zillyhoo was highly impressed. Those two were obviously loyal to Oglogoth only, and yet they seemed so at ease with her. For one to even refer to her in a way of affection… For Zillyhoo, he’d only known being either respected or liked (Caledfwlch excluded, naturally) by his peers. Never both, as Oglogoth was.

Finally, her attentions were fully on him. “Hello, little prince,” She curtsied, that smirk still present. It made Zillyhoo’s face feel warm. It also made him feel like he was about to endure some sort of torture, but he coincidentally ignored it.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” He automatically croaked, fearful of the latter emotion anyways. “I was just trying to be charming.”

“Well, men don’t exactly master that technique in their short lifetimes, so I don’t blame you for at least trying. It made me smile and made Zazzerpan leave, which grants you even more.” She spoke sharply and quickly; the tongue of an educated master of wit, no doubt. She looped her arm through Zillyhoo’s, leading the wide eyed and dazed boy back to his place. “You’re off to a wonderful start, your Majesty.”

“…Uh-huh.”

***

Oglogoth was not, in fact, participating in the games. Like him, she was just an observer. “I prefer to watch my cousins’ work,” She had explained to a still star-struck Zillyhoo. “Besides, seeing Caledfwlch embarrass himself is a rare occasion that I wouldn’t miss for the world.”

He’d noticed right off the bat that she was very… rude? No, no. Cynical? Perhaps… She certainly didn’t keep her snark to herself.

The mention of Caledfwlch earned his full attention. “You know Caledfwlch?” He asked.

She nodded, taking the drink that was offered to her by a passing servant. “I do, in fact. He’s a friendly rival of mine. We meet regularly for verbal battles and Majyyk ‘mine is bigger than yours’ bouts.” The Seer examines the drink- pink lemonade, Zillyhoo tells her- and, shrugging slightly, downs it without even extending her pinky. “I’m surprised he’s never mentioned me, since he speaks about you constantly.”

That wasn’t as surprising as Zillyhoo thought it would be. After all, Caledfwlch did care about him a lot. Why not brag to someone about it? It wasn’t entirely out of his nature. “No…I’m sorry, ma’am. He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

She frowned for the first time, and even that expression didn’t make her ugly. “That’s unfortunate. Well, thanks to the culture of secrets and lies the Royalty has created for ‘the better good’, I’m actually not that surprised in the slightest.”

From afar, Hephaestus could be seen choking on his flagon of what was probably wine, and Typheus seemed nearly indifferent. “Talk as you will, darling. I’m used to the women of your family being outspoken in the most charming of ways,” Typheus commented, a miniscule smile curving his lips.

Oglogoth all but scowled. “Pardon me, sir, but if I wanted to be charming, I would be.” Hephaestus choked again, this time being forced to spit out what he was drinking. He was probably laughing too.

Typheus took a deep breath of his pipe, breathing out the smoke through his nostrils. He, however, said no more. It was obvious he wasn’t pleased.

Zillyhoo was dumbfounded. Did she really just talk back to his father? Hephaestus couldn’t even do that!! “You’re so brilliant…” He mumbled, in awe once more.

To his surprise, her face turned a bit pink, and that scowled morphed. “You’re too kind. I’m nowhere near as brilliant as I’d like to be.”

“No, you are, though! Very brilliant! The way you just shooed Zazzerpan away, and the way you just say what you want without caring…” He trailed off, sighing. “So brave.”

She chuckled lightly, hand covering her shy smile. “Thank you. I like the honesty in your eyes. One doesn’t see it very often…”

His smile gains a fondness to it. “So… Who were those two guys you were with? What were their names…? Caprisun and Callifor?”

“Capricious and Caligulas. They’re my cousins. Don’t worry, only Capricious is potentially harmful.”

“ Uh, yeah… I saw that. He had a pretty strong hold on that fancy one.”

“Mmhm. Capricious is my right-hand man. I don’t go anywhere without him by my side. Don’t be misled by his lax nature; he holds far more in his mind than what face value gives you.” She watches him from afar, how he braided another cousin’s long hair with a voice filled with bliss. “He’s a Bard.”

“Really? Wait… is he friends with Carcino, by any chance?” Zillyhoo remembered an instance not too long ago where Carcino mentioned he’d gained a friend in another family…

She hummed again in an answer. “He makes so many friends daily, I can never keep up with them.”

“Well, Carcino is very short, and very angry-“

“-But I _do_ know that one. Oh, yes. Capricious is fascinated by what Carcino’s religious thoughts are, despite them being different than his own. Their debates are some of the most shockingly tame ones I’ve ever witnessed. They’ll make a good pair one day, that Bard and Knight.”

“Aha…I’m not sure we’re talking about the same person.”

“No, no. Believe me, I was also baffled. Capricious has this strange power to suck the anger from a room with his presence. Rage seems to be nonexistent with him about.”

“Is that so…?”

“It is.” She ended the conversation by nodding to the field, smiling as the sea of red, blue, and purple fill it. Zillyhoo watched with interest as his father rose, giving Hephaestus his pipe, who took it with his own nod. He walked to the edge of the stand, hands folded calmly in front of him.

“Greetings, children!! You have all been brought here to celebrate and win for our Heir, who, on this day, has been given the name Zillyhoo. This name will be the word you scream as you fight and compete today, and will also be the name you chant tonight as you dine and dance in jovial celebration,” He boomed, his voice loud and echoing across the field. “These clans of Red, Blue, and Violet are united by our skills and brotherhood. Though there are…rivalries-”

What rivalries? Zillyhoo had always been told that the families coexist wonderfully.

“ –Today, we will channel them for friendly sport, _and friendly sport only._ ”

There was a collective of “ayes”, “huzzahs”, and a “fuck yeah” that wasn’t incredibly difficult to be sourced. Zillyhoo giggled, applauding with the rest of the children.

“With that said, let the games begin!”

The Seer at the Heir’s side hummed, downing the rest of her drink. “’Friendly sport’…” She scoffed, frowning with displeasure. “What nonsense. Someone always takes these things to far…”

Paling slightly, Zillyhoo became downcast. If he knew anything, he knew that she was correct. He’s seen how intense these contests are; he just hadn’t known they were because of rivalry. Out of some innocent, desperate desire to ignore the obvious, he thought that his fellows were too intense for their own good. Never had he imagined the plainly visible hatred breeding in the field.

Someone would, in fact, take things too far.

***

Carcino cracked his knuckles, jolting as he blocked a punch from his cousin. “Careful, now!! I’m not your bloody opponent, fuckin’ Arisen is!! If you break my arm before I can beat the living shit out of that cocksucker Caligulas, I’ll stab you on your wedding night!!”

Caledfwlch hummed, landing a high kick to Carcino’s padded arm. “Me? Married? Surely you jest,” He deadpanned, smirking all the while. “If anything, you’re the one that’s going to sleep with the same woman for eternity.”

“If, in fact, I choose a lady…” He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you warmed up enough? Arisen is looking at you pretty intensely.”

Indeed she was; well, as intensely as such a somber girl could muster. Which, in her case, was a look of mild interest in Caledfwlch’s direction. Upon discovering she’d been spotted, she glided over, tying her hair back by a ribbon as she did so.

“Are you ready, my cousin?” She asked, bowing first. “I’m not going to show mercy.”

“I know, I know,” Caledfwlch retorted, waving her away. “I’ll do the same; just try not to cry like a baby when I win, okay, girl?”

Let it be known that, in that moment, that was but the first time a girl swept him off his feet in a literal sense.

Her foot connected with his chest as he hit the grass, procuring a grunt from the Knight. Arisen’s eyes held a certain intensity, her lips pursed. “Don’t. Ever. Call. Me. ‘Girl’,” she mumbled.

Carcino squeaked, leaping up to take Arisen’s hand. “H-Hey, hey, come now, Arisen, come now! No need to kill him for disrespect so early! I’m sure Caledfwlch was just taunting you, to make you back up your promises!” He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her. “We both know you are a lady, and in no way a simple girl. _Right, Caledfwlch_?” the last part he growled, looking down at the other male with an expression of clear distress.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. What he said.”

Arisen blinked, and like everyone else who fell victim to one of Carcino’s embraces, became calm. “…My apologies. I feel angered by that name.”

“We know, lovely, bloody hell. You just about killed Arachnid over it,” Carcino laughed nervously.

At that moment, thank the Gods, Armageddon walked over to see what the ruckus was about. “Arisen? Are these morons giving you problems?”

“Of course not.”

“Then… I hope this isn’t a bad time, but I wanted to speak to you about something before your match.” Armageddon glanced away, smoothing out his robes.

The Maiden and the Knight (the short one, of course) exchanged looks. He let her go, and there was the barest hints of a smile on his lips. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Up and at ‘em, boy, let’s get you a sword and shield.” Carcino hauled Caledfwlch up by his arm.

The relationship between Arisen and Armageddon was anything but a secret, and that included tumultuous. They’d been sweethearts before Arisen went to the Dead Fields, and once she came back such a changed woman, the love was lost. Lately, however, Armageddon had begun to accept the changes and see the same love he had so long ago, and begun to creep his way back. It was quite romantic. Luckily they weren’t so close in family relation that their romantic interest was denied, of course. Marrying in the clan was common, naturally, but often lineage had to be checked to prevent passage of unsavory traits.

Armageddon held out his arm for Arisen to take, smiling a tad nervously, and when she took it, he laughed with the same tense energy, leading her off to the side.

Caledfwlch observed them as Carcino shifted through the regulated weapons for the competition. “Aha! Perfect! Found yours, cousin, and- oh, bloody fuck, stop ogling! It’s damn creepy.” He swatted the blonde, giving him a scolding look when he shrugged.

“What? I’m just trying to keep up on everyone’s lives.”

“Then you wait until they tell you!! Don’t go snooping and watching!! Besides, the last thing Armageddon wants is for YOU to see, should he crash and burn.”

Caledfwlch snorted. “He still hates me?”

“No… Well, yes. Yes, he does. Be lucky he has the maturity to just ignore you. I’d call you a bastard every chance I get, and bash your fucking head in if you even so much as looked at my lady.”

Taking his inspected sword and shield from Carcino, Caledfwlch swung his weapon about to test the weight. “Excellent.”

Not ten minutes later, the horn sounded, declaring the end of the horse races and the beginning of the duels. Both boys nodded to each other quickly, hustling to meet up with their opponents.

Caledfwlch jogged to the center of the field, where all the events were being held, and leapt over the railing into the circle. He was mildly surprised to find that Arisen was already waiting for him.

“Greetings, cousin. I’ve chosen to forgive you for calling me a name which I so very loathe.” She stood, posture like a cemetery angel, with her back straight and hands resting loosely on her sword. When Caledfwlch rolled his eyes, she tilted her head just so, abandoning her stance to prepare herself.

Caledfwlch shrugged, however, instead of advancing. “Fair enough. How did your chat with Armageddon go?” he asked.

At the mention of the boy, a very faint smile came to the Maiden’s lips; a sight so rare that the Knight almost thought he’d imagined it.

“It went fairly well. He asked me to marry him, and I, after conversing with the Gods about the matter, said yes. The Gods have told me that agreeing would be the happiest moment of my life.”

Caledfwlch’s brow rose. _Wow,_ he thought. _Didn’t know Arma had the balls to actually ask her._ “Congratulations,” He replied, lifting his own blade, “Was it the happiest moment?”

“By far. I do so very much care for my funny friend.”

“Oh? Sorry I’ll ruin it, then, with your defeat.”

If Arisen was affected by his teasing, it didn’t show. She merely curtsied to him, sliding her feet into place. “In all honesty, Caledfwlch… not even my death could make me miserable today.”

***

Zillyhoo watched eagerly as Caledfwlch and Arisen sunk into so very familiar poses. In truth, Zillyhoo had only ever seen Caledfwlch fight Carcino when the other Knight visited him; he’d never gotten the chance to witness Caledfwlch truly battle another. The fact that it was a woman made it interesting; he was sure the Knight would be challenged by his vows of chivalry.

The Seer beside him, however, didn’t seem very concerned with his vows. “Prepare yourself, Zillyhoo. What you are going to see will challenge your opinion about your beloved companion.”

He felt his face grow hot. “Just saying he’s a friend will do, milady.” He frowned, growing tense as Arisen curtsied and Caledfwlch bowed to her.

It was Hephaestus himself who’d descended to the field, as only he was worthy of being his family’s judge. Zillyhoo could see that words were being exchanged between the Maiden and Knight; however, from such a distance and with such a ruckus around him, it was impossible to tell what the words were. He did, in fact, hear Hephaestus explain the combatant’s limitations.

“No Majyyk, no aiming for the head, no death blows, and absolutely _no cheating_. Do I make myself clear?” He barked, arms crossed behind his back and stance proud, his voice amplified by some unknown force.

Both children barked back a “Sir, yes, sir!” with astounding enthusiasm, bowed their heads to him for a moment, and turned back to each other once they received a nod back.

Caledfwlch’s expressed an intense concentration, brow furrowed and eyes burning. “I fight for my Heir today, sir! My victory goes to my Heir, sir! He will receive my spoils, sir!” He cried, punctuating every “sir”.

Zillyhoo was surprised; not by the declaration itself, but the tone. Like he was speaking to the Gods themselves. He grinned, flattered by Caledfwlch’s desires to give him his winnings.

Hephaestus hummed, lifting his hand. “Both of you ready?”

There were two nods of confirmation.

“Then begin.”

Neither moved, frozen in place as they sized the other up. Zillyhoo could see it, their gazes searching the other for weak points.

As expected, Caledfwlch was the first to advance. Without even so much as a sound, he vanished in the blink of an eye.

The Heir gasped. Did the Knight cheat? Surely he had to have been using Majyyk to vanish like that…!

No, he realized. Caledfwlch’s speed was astronomical, like his brother, and it was a natural occurrence. He’d engaged Arisen from behind, striking her with the blunt of his sword. She yelped, falling to the ground without a single fight.

“Arisen has died. Caledfwlch claims round one.”

Zillyhoo cheered, applauding his friend’s victory.

“Don’t get excited too quickly, sire. These matches are best two out of three,” Oglogoth commented. She chuckled. “Look closely; Caledfwlch has forgotten this fact. His speed may be a powerful ability, but Arisen is far more intelligent than he is.”

As expected, in the second round, when the Knight attempted to repeat the actions via a quick thrust to the breast, Arisen expected it, and blocked him, sweeping his legs out from under him as she did before.

“Caledfwlch has many flaws as a warrior, and-sadly- they’re miniscule; for starters, he always forgets to watch his feet. In a duel with Arisen, who favors using her powerful legs, such a flaw is a ticket to death.”

Caledfwlch coughed as her foot connected with his torso, sending him rolling across the dirt. Before he could catch his breath and stand, Arisen’s broadsword pressed to his throat.

“Caledfwlch has died. Arisen claims round two.”

Zillyhoo cringed, feeling his friend’s pain as he wheezed and coughed. The Heir bit his lip, watching the two warriors with growing concern for the fair-haired one. “Oh, it’s so close… I didn’t think that these fights were so short.”

At that, the Seer laughed. “Oh, poor boy. Don’t you understand?” She motioned to the two. “This is an act. Almost too dramatic to be entertaining. Typical of this family, really, behaving so suspenseful. I’ll even wager that this final round will be the most intense.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “How pathetic.”

She earned the title of Seer honestly; as the third match began, the Knight and Maiden engaged in a brutal spar. Blades drew together as a broader sword bore down on a thinner blade that was almost suspiciously strong. Caledfwlch shoved Arisen away, using his speed to strike her vital points. She, however, was not so easily beaten.

In fact, all were amazed to see the girl stand toe-to-toe with the pride of their clan. She always knew where he was, always knew where he would strike. The greatest blows Caledfwlch landed at this point only created a scratch and slightly torn clothes.

As expected of humans, murmurings began of a future marriage of the two in the peasant stands. They would be a perfect match, and their children would be true gods of battle.

Of course, there was the reality that Arisen couldn’t even imagine such a concept without grimacing, they were far too close in relation, and Caledfwlch was too prideful at the moment. But three truths cannot stop twenty lies when the mouths that speak them are petty.

Caledfwlch felt his blood boil as he was continually parried by his opponent, the embarrassment of it all turning even the tips of his ears a dark shade. “Lose already, you cow!” He cried, tackling her to the ground. She grunted, fist flying at him, only to be caught by his. A collective gasp and boos rang out, the crowds upset by the sudden physical assault.

Eyes wild, the Knight managed to land a blow to her jaw, and then two more to her cheek and nose. Blood gushed from both wounds, and it appeared to be the end of Arisen (metaphorically, of course) as Caledfwlch poised his blade over her.

However, once again, Caledfwlch forgot about Arisen’s powerful kick.

I won’t bother with details as to where exactly Arisen landed that deciding blow, but I will say that every man cringed and wept inwardly for the poor boy and the poor boy cringed and wept outwardly.

Sword out of hand, doubled over in pain, Caledfwlch groaned with despair as Arisen’s blade prodded the back of his head.

“Caledfwlch is dead. Arisen is the victor.”

The nobility stands erupted with voracious cheering, most of it from Zillyhoo’s own family- and, surprisingly, Caledfwlch’s. Armageddon could be seen howling with laughter, blowing kisses in Arisen’s direction as he and Carcino doubled over in what was definitely not pain.

Zillyhoo’s face fell with sadness as he watched his friend try to recover. He could sense his humiliation from several yards away. “Should I go and get him…?” He mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, already making his way to the stairs.

Oglogoth merely sighed. “Another flaw of his… is that he never learns from his mistakes.”

***

Zillyhoo was right in assuming that Caledfwlch was embarrassed; he was. Incredibly. He didn’t dare look his brother in the eye, for fear of seeing the stark disappointment that was there. “Brilliant work,” Came the bitter remark from Hephaestus. The older brother walked away from them, most likely to go speak to his clan and make Caledfwlch an example.

Caledfwlch didn’t respond. He did look up at Zillyhoo, though, as the Heir kneeled and gripped his shoulders.

“Can you walk?” He asked, a sympathetic smile on his lips.

“…Aye,” Caledfwlch muttered darkly, head turning to the grass again. “Forgive me, Zillyhoo. I embarrassed you.”

Zillyhoo helped his companion to his feet, patting his back. “Don’t worry about such a trivial thing; besides, I think you embarrassed yourself enough for us both for a lifetime.”

At that, Caledfwlch was forced to smile, pushing him teasingly.

To their collective surprise, Caledfwlch’s clan cheered as the boy was brought to his feet, as though he’d never lost. Arisen approached them, curtsying at Zillyhoo. “I’m sorry, Caledfwlch. I took things too far. That was a very dishonorable way to defeat you,” She stated, taking a cloth out and nursing her beaten face, as though it was a mere paper cut. “If you’d like, I’ll forfeit to save your honor-“

“Nah, nah,” the Knight interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “You won because you used your resources- a true warrior’s way. I had it coming, anyways. Your face is in a bad shape now.”

She nodded, bowing this time. “Suit yourself. I’ll alert the others that you’ll be sitting with your friends for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll see you tonight, cousin. Happy Birthday, your Majesty.”

The two boys went back to the royal stands, Caledfwlch filling the other in on the recent events with Arisen and Armageddon. “I like the pairing… they’re nuts about each other, so I’m happy for them.”

“I would hope so.”

Caledfwlch’s smile contorted into a scowl at the sound of that cool, eloquent voice. “Why are you up here?” He snapped at Oglogoth, head inclining to glare at Zillyhoo. “Why is she up here?!”

“Zillyhoo invited me; or, rather, I invited myself and Zillyhoo was too enraptured to say no,” the Seer explained, drawing a fan from the folds of her dress. “A bit like you, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Knight grunted. “Temptress. Go back to the bottom feeding magicians in the stands,” He retorted.

Zillyhoo was caught between them, pale and nervous. “Oh, come on, please don’t get into a fight now…”

The two stared each other down. Oglogoth fanned herself, posture relaxed like a waiting tiger. After a moment, however, the two broke into tame laughter.

“You’re terrible,” Caledfwlch stated, and Zillyhoo breathed a sigh of relief.

Oglogoth took her seat again, continuing to fan herself. “You called my family bottom feeders; it’s you who is terrible.”

His smirk widened and he took Zillyhoo’s seat, groaning a little in the process. “Damn, that hurt…”

“You had it coming.”

“…Yeah, I had it coming.”

The two laughed to themselves, and it seemed to ease Zillyhoo’s gait. Oglogoth was right about Caledfwlch and she; they did have a strange relationship… but it was a pleasant one. A bit like siblings.

They shot the breeze for a bit, talking about this and that, who and where; complaining about every such thing. As they did so, warriors clashed down below.

They had the chance to see Carcino in action; a bit like Caledfwlch, in that speed was one of his greater strengths, yet he seemed to be much more calculating. In his fight against Centaur, whose strength was almost unnaturally natural, he used the larger’s weight against him and was able to flip and pin him under two minutes. Though he gained a very dark black eye and a possible broken arm, he had a tenacity and frightening stubbornness that gained him an overall victory. Later, in the Majyyk rounds, he would fight Caligulas if he felt the energy.

Many more (but surely not as currently interesting) members of the red, blue, and purple families fought, all of whom cried Zillyhoo’s name to celebrate their glorious rulers. It made Zillyhoo’s heart swell with affection for them.

Later on, after the fights, it was announced that the jousting matches would take place. There were but four that registered for the competition; Arachnid, Arisen, Centaur, and Toreador.

Centaur’s and Arisen’s match was first. Centaur, previously, had dominated the horse races; stallions were his absolute specialty. Why would the jousts be any different?

Apparently, there was a large difference. While the girl seemed more than ready to compete, despite her bruised face, the boy appeared to be struggling internally. He was conversing in hushed voices, Caledfwlch saw, with Hephaestus, who nodded and shook his head accordingly. Arisen had donned her full suit and helmet; it would be a shame for her to be denied two victories.

The Gods of victory smiled upon her, however; Centaur seemed to recover from his stagnation, donned his armor and mounted his majestic steed. And as expected, Arisen brutally destroyed him in the very first round, knocking him off his horse, sending him into the grass to feel ashamed of himself, and causing him to sweat profusely.

But what was to be expected? Today was quite the lucky day for the girl.

It would take a least an hour of consoling and reassuring that, yes, Centaur was, in fact, a master of horses, he was just nervous about facing a fair maiden for the first time, before he stopped internally screaming long enough to dry off the oceans of sweat he oozed through his powerful, muscled body.

The second pairing, however, was far more interesting. Arachnid and Toreador had a history of rivalries and friendships, both direct and in relation to people in their inner circle. Arachnid, Caledfwlch understood, was quite the bully to his cousin. She took pleasure in watching the weak-willed boy squirm, and today was no exception.

Oglogoth inquired about all this information about the two and more, and while Caledfwlch gave this, he noted that Zillyhoo had begun to stray towards his father. While he knew Oglogoth noticed as well, he knew it was better not to call him back. He would find his way over in time; space was something that was needed when surrounded by so many.

Caledfwlch caught Typheus’ eye as Zillyhoo greeted him with a hug, and the odd, icy blankness of his gaze sent a chill down his spine. He hadn’t forgotten this morning, it seemed. “When will you tell me what exactly he’s hiding…?” Caledfwlch mumbled to Oglogoth, averting the prince’s gaze. “I know that is the case; he’s very watchful of me because of my closeness to you. My affections for Zillyhoo have little to do with it, I think.”

“I think we’ll know soon enough.”

Just as Caledfwlch was going to inquire more, a piercing scream tore through the air. What followed were the roars and screams of Caledfwlch’s family and the commoners, some in rage and some in terror. Below, Toreador had been hit right in the torso by Arachnid’s lance, and was violently thrown from his horse. Onlookers watched, with horror, as his horse bucked, and with a sickening crack, the poor, defenseless Page’s back was trampled by his own steed.

And, as expected, Arachnid laughed, her eyes wild with what some would describe as madness. “Get up, little boy! What’s wrong? Are you in a bit of pain!?” She cackled, leaping off her horse, picking up Toreador's broken lance as she gallivanted over. “Get up, you pathetic, worthless piece of shit!”

Caledfwlch cried out in rage with his family, blood stirred by the girl’s cruelty. Oglogoth was quick to grab his arm, but he merely yanked away. “That fucking… That bitch… I’ll kill her, _I’ll fucking end her…_!!” He growled, eyes burning. Zillyhoo looked on, pale as a ghost, as his friend’s face contorted into an expression of pure rage. The Heir had never seen such a look. A look of utter hatred, so passionate it sparked around the Knight. “How dare she…? How dare she treat _my_ family like we’re pests? That elitist blue bitch…!!” He screamed more profanities, leaping off of the railing and into the sea of red. One half of his family either took off for their cousin or held Arachnid’s own at bay, shoving and antagonizing them as they protested.

“Arachnid, stop, stop!” Zillyhoo cried, covering his mouth in horror as she plowed through Caledfwlch’s family, laughing and leaping down to fight them. This couldn’t be Arachnid. He’d known she was intense, but… had she always been so horrible? Had they all been so terrible to each other?

Hephaestus was the one to get to Arachnid first, grabbing her arm just as she was preparing to kick the boy below her. He glanced over at Typheus, as though seeking permission.

“…Wait, no, sir, please, mercy!” Arachnid screamed, realizing before anyone else what he was asking permission for. “Please, have mercy, he hasn’t died! It was an accident-!!”

Typheus frowned deeply, walking up to the railing. “You’ll be detained until I decide what shall be done.”

She sobbed, her breaths coming rapidly. “I’m a royal!! You can’t shame me for asserting my place!!” She yelped, crying out as the arm Hephaestus was gripping was squeezed almost to breaking. “You can’t hurt me!! I’m better than you. I’m better than all of you!! You’re our servants, our slaves! The fact that you grow furious over such a lowly twig means that you’re terrified of losing a soldier in your future revolution! You red-bearing scum are our slaves, and never forget that!”

Hephaestus squeezed her arm again. “I’d watch my mouth, if I was you. I might _“_ accidentally” break your back as well.”

She was silenced, eyes wide with panic, her body vibrating with terror.

Regardless of her title, if Toreador was to die, her fate would be worse.

Carcino rushed to Toreador's aid, carefully dragging him a ways away to examine him while Arisen and Armageddon brought Centaur forth to calm the horses before they attacked anyone else. Carcino examined Toreador, questioning him in a hushed tone. “Fuck… Caledfwlch, come here! Come help me!”

The Knight had stood still, listening to Arachnid with the growing urge to slit her throat. However, upon hearing his cousin’s voice, realized someone else needed far gentler care now than her.

Toreador was in a truly terrible state; a sobbing, whimpering mess, his eyes were bulging open as the shock rocked through him, choked cries all he could make as Carcino gently nudged at certain parts of his body. Both Caledfwlch and Carcino cringed as he gave a shocked scream when Carcino touched his spine. Carcino lifted up his tunic, turning his head quickly as the sight made his stomach turn. “His spine is fractured,” He spoke gravelly.

“H-Help…” Toreador reached out for Carcino, shuddering and twitching. “Help, I-I can’t…I can’t feel my legs.”

That was what his clan was waiting for. Hephaestus grabbed Arachnid by her hair, yanking her out of the arena.

Zillyhoo shook, as though he was the one who was harmed. “H-How…? How could she do this to him…? How could she say such ugly, hateful things…?” He whispered, eyes welling with tears. “That’s not honoring me… That’s…”

“Evil,” Oglogoth commented, frowning sadly. “Selfish, rather. Their rivalry was unhealthy; Arachnid, like many, holds fast to the belief that all of the red family are stupid and lesser than her own. Many of _your_ own think that guardians like Caledfwlch and Hephaestus are their slaves. Perhaps she thought she was making a statement against the red clan by making his own horse crush him.”

Zillyhoo’s eyes filled with newfound horror. “…What? No, no, that was an accident…”

The Seer nodded, arms crossing and eyes conveying her honest pity. “Yes; why do you think Arachnid is in so much trouble? She not only violated the rules of your tournament, but she also violated the Laws of The Gods. Rule number one: One shall not do wrong to one’s fellow human out of hatred. The Gods, when giving us their powers, were very clear in their use- as a way to worship them, not use it to maim each other.”

They watched as Arachnid sobbed and pleaded, but was inevitably dragged away like a criminal. The Seer shook her head. “I’m assuming she used her specialty of mind control to get to Toreador’s own- controlling animals- and manipulated his own horse to stomp on its master.”

The Heir swallowed. “That’s so terrible… How could they hate each other that much?”

Toreador was placed on a stretcher and carried away by two of his cousins, Carcino and Armageddon in tow; Armageddon was mumbling softly and Carcino was relaying the ingredients needed for a draught for the suffering boy below them to healers. The others had begun to fight in their stands, and the screams and profanities and insults flew with passion.

“Thick runs the passion. They don’t stop and realize that they are cut from the same cloth because it’s far more entertaining to fight and die for stupidity,” The Seer commented.

Afar, her family intervened, not motivated by hate. A new force introduced herself; a girl with long, ebony hair and dark skin, who was followed closely by Caligulas. She cried out to them, “Please! This won’t make things better, please! We are all related to the same gods, why do you disgrace them!?” Zillyhoo recognized her as the one that Capricious sat with and braided her hair. Her eyes were alight with passion, smile gentle and encouraging as she begged for peace.

“Shut up!!”

Caligulas reacted immediately, drawing a smooth, ivory wand. “Who the fuck said that? I’ll turn you into chum-!!” He grabbed the nearest male by his tunic, teeth bared viciously.

Well… Almost all of Oglogoth’s family.

Capricious leisurely walked between the fights, observing with mild interest and surprise when a pair was thrown to the ground. He looked over at his madam, smiling wider and waving happily. She sighed, nodding once at the carefree gentleman. As though that was a signal, he suddenly grabbed the nearest rioter and all but roared in their face.

“ ** _HONK_**.”

At the noise, all fighting in the noble stands ceased, and all cheering and jeering in the peasantry stands halted. The leisurely gentleman rumbled- purred, almost- and set their terrified victim down. Blowing a wisp of dark, purple stained hair out of his eyes, he merely waltzed to the peaceful maiden with the long hair, giggling as she pat his shoulder with a shaky hand, lifting her off the ground and carrying her off. Caligulas followed belatedly, mumbling darkly.

“Does that suit your standards, Oggy?” Capricious called, setting the girl down and letting the wizard behind him covet their sister.

Oglogoth shrugged nonchalantly, pleased, at least, that the nobility was shocked into submission.

Typheus, for the entirety of this spectacle, had been observing with a growing disgust. “Children…” He sighed angrily, storming past Zillyhoo with a rage in his eyes. “All of you, return to your tents!! You will sit in them, and think about the disgrace you’ve all become in the eyes of my son!!”

Zillyhoo, however, did not see them as a disgrace.

He, with tear-filled eyes, finally saw them all as they truly were.

Humans.


	5. Right Between The Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconvenience. For some reason, the website is being really crazy, and I've had to do some serious maintenance on this story and delete and upload over and over. Enjoy regardless!

“Why are you still here?”

Carcino gave a start at the sound of the voice- Caligulas, he realized- and turned from watching Toreador, who was sleeping in a drug-induced coma on a small infirmary bed.

Caligulas snorted, arms crossing and body leaning against the wall by the bed. “Why are you still here? You missed our duel. Isn’t that the fight you were hoping for?” He asked, smirking slightly. “You weren’t afraid to go against a _real_ wizard, were you?”

Carcino growled, fist clenching. “Get out. You don’t belong here, especially now, of all times.”

The wizard glanced down, at the dormant form of Toreador. Despite himself, he felt a small rise of pity.

Usually, he had a deep hatred of those lower than him- a loathing that might have been absorbed from Arachnid, of whom he also had history with. They’d been, briefly, what one would consider friendly rivals; however, that time has long passed, and it wasn’t worth elaborating.

Still, the sight of Toreador, such a shy, soft-faced, gentle creature, in so much obvious pain and suffering… It was a sight one could go without seeing.

Carcino was stony faced. “For your information, fish-boy, I’m here because I think I should be looking after my family instead of preparing for a fucking party. I see you don’t share the same sentiments,” he spat, eyeing the rich clothes Caligulas wore for the Heir’s gala. 

Caligulas scoffed. He moved to sit across from Toreador, crossing his legs. “Well, my apologies; perhaps the next time a boy I barely even know gets fatally wounded by a former lover, I’ll remember to be more courteous.”

“Shut up, you egotistical sack of shit. Admit it; you, just like the rest of the royal family, hate us.”

The wizard’s face fell. “Don’t you dare lump me in with them.” He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward with a vexed look. “Don’t you dare accuse me of being like someone else’s evil. I’m my own evil, thank you very much.”

Carcino reached for his wand. Sensing the tense situation, Caligulas sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “…While that is true, don’t think for a fuckin’ minute that I’m happy your cousin is hurt,” He told him, glancing down at the patient. “I hate you, but at least I’m smart enough to know how much I need you.” He coughed, glancing at the door, as though he expected someone to walk in at that moment. “You, of course, being the red family, not you exclusively.”

At that, Carcino smirked just a tad. He leaned over Toreador, brushing the stripe of dark brown hair the Page had out of his eyes. “…God, I’m still so pissed off.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m so pissed off and I can’t do a god damn thing about it.” He stood quickly, knocking the chair to the floor. He began to pace, hand covering his mouth as he attempted to calm the building anger inside him. 

The wizard was a bit taken aback, but remembered that this was to be expected of the Knight. The boy was prone to angry outbursts. Scratching the side of his face, Caligulas sighed again. “How… How bad is Toreador exactly?” He asked in a low voice.

“How bad is he?! He’ll never walk again, _that_ is how bad he is! And I’m DONE.” To Caligulas’ shock, he knocked the contents of a nearby small table off and sent the furniture tumbling to the floor, like his chair. “I am DONE taking orders from bastards who don’t appreciate us, who treat us like tools for their own delight!!” He exclaimed. “This happened because of this pathetic system that makes us lesser than each other because of a few petty reasons; the hatred that’s bred from that system will just keep making things worse and worse until we’re all at each other’s throats with the same intensity as Arachnid! And we’ll love it. We’ll love murdering each other, ripping each other to shreds. We’ll drink with the people we call ‘family’, all the while pouring poison into their cups!! This kind of bastardization is _exactly_ why the Gods no longer speak to us!”

The unspoken truth was finally said aloud. For, in truth, it had been years since the Gods directly spoke to their creations. Before, in the older times, they would intervene and converse openly with those worthy. Now, the Gods didn’t respond to any sort of chant or call or even a plea for help. They remained silent.

“Because we’re failures in their eyes,” Carcino continued. “We- we’ve taken their precious gift and squandered it! Used it to control people and murder! Nothing we do anymore is for the Gods, Caligulas, absolutely nothing.”

Caligulas was quiet as he spoke, eyes soft. “You’re right,” He agreed, leaning back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, Car. This… this kind of breach of the Laws… it’s just the beginning.”

The Knight paused, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean… what have you heard?”

Again, Caligulas turned to examine the door. He swallowed nervously. “You… You won’t believe me… But I have a confident suspicion that there’s a Witch among us, and the High Prince is planning on taking action.”

Carcino’s eyes filled with fear. “What?” He quickly rushed to the wizard’s side. “You can’t be serious…! Bloody fuck, he wouldn’t dare hurt any of my sisters, let alone his own girls…!” He cried in a hushed voice, eyeing Caligulas.

The wizard nodded, standing. “As you know, the High Prince is training me personally to be the Heir’s advisor, as my father is the High Prince’s... I overheard the two of them conversing about it late last night. They want to observe the women tonight, at the party,” He explained.

The Knight bit his lip, tugging at his hair. “What should I do then!? I can’t tell him that Arisen or any other girls in my family aren’t Witches, he won’t believe me!”

“Look, I told you this because, despite everything, I personally like you. You’ve got a head on your fuckin’ shoulders that works, unlike Caledfwlch or Armageddon. But if you dare tell anyone else, it’ll be the end of you and me! Got it?”

“…Aye. I’ll keep quiet.”

Caligulas nodded resolutely, brushing off his robes and starting for the door again.

After a moment’s pause, Carcino called out to him, “Caligulas… do _you_ think that there’s a Witch among us? Will you be watching out for your cousins?”

The wizard stopped, hand on the doorknob. “I’m…I’m positive of it, to be honest,” He admitted, in a tone he’d never been heard using before. “I know exactly who it is.”

“Then for bloody fuck’s sake, turn her in.”

He laughed softly, opening the door. “Sorry. I can’t. She’ll be royally mad at me.” He turned a bit, shrugging.

Carcino paled, a look of desperate worry on his expression as the wizard closed the door. He took a deep breath. “Fuck…” He breathed, taking Caligulas’ seat. “Fuck, fuck…”

“Was he…telling the truth?”

Carcino yelled in alarm, jerking roughly in his seat, eyes wide as he looked down quickly.

Toreador must have awoken while they were talking, because he looked just as concerned as Carcino, his deep brown eyes open, but obviously in need of more sleep. “Was he? Is there really a Witch among us?”

The Knight put a hand over his heart, swallowing thickly. “Gods, don’t startle me like that, you… wait, you little bastard!! You were eavesdropping!!”

The Page scoffed, crossing his arms. “Eavesdropping? It’s my bed you decided to gossip around…j-just saying…” He trailed off, face flushing. “Now what’s this about a Witch? Come on, tell me. I’m injured, have pity.”

The Knight cracked a smile, finally, rolling his eyes. “Okay, you are a terrible human being, it is official.”

Toreador shrugged innocently, smiling back.

“… It’s nothing. Caligulas heard his dad and the High Prince talk about finding a Witch hiding amongst us. I’m pretty sure he was just being an overdramatic shit when he said that he knew who it was… you know how he gets,” the Knight explained, rolling his eyes and twirling his finger by his temple.

Toreador giggled, staring up at the ceiling. “Huh… imagine that… I bet it’s Arachnid.”

“Ha! That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Especially now…” Carcino stopped and let those words go unsaid.

Toreador glanced down at his legs, now mere limp extensions of his body. “…I still can’t feel them,” He stated quietly. His voice sucked up all the air in the room, leaving just empty sadness. “What good am I now? I’m just dead weight in the family. I’m guessing I’ll be put in some sort of home… or killed, most likely. What good is a lame Page?”

Carcino reacted quickly. He gripped Toreador’s nightgown, pulling the other closer to him. “You listen here, you bastard,” He growled, making the other stiffen, wince, and tremble. “If you start thinking that way, then you’re lost forever. You are just as good now as you were before. You’re going to recover. You may not be able to walk, but you’re going to get better, and _be_ better. You’re smart, and you’re damn good with beasts. You don’t need legs to be smart or good with animals.”

Toreador lowered his head, eyes downcast. “Y-You’re just saying that.” He sighed, pushing the Knight away, his own hands fisting his sheets. “No, don’t deny it… I’m not that smart at all. It’s only through Majyyks that I know what I’m doing. I’m going to rot in a hospital bed for the rest of my life. A-And that’s…that’s okay… I guess.” It obviously wasn’t, because he began to cry softly, not brave enough to hold in his tears.

It was then that Carcino came to the first paradigm shift of his life. He felt a plethora of emotions wash over him; sympathy, empathy, anger, and duty. He’d known Toreador since they were babies, but never before did he feel such a gripping responsibility to the other. It would be later that he learned what those emotions all equaled.

In an act of strange gentleness, he placed a hand on Toreador’s shoulder, his other gripping the Page’s hand. “No. That’s not okay, Toreador. That’s not okay and I’m going to help you,” He told him, squeezing just a bit.

The Page looked up at him, his eyes shining with tears. “Carcino, only healers would have a chance of fixing me… and the ones we have told us that they can’t help me.”

“So?” He scowled. “So what? They can’t do the impossible. But give me some time, and I will.”

The implications of the Knight’s words stunned the Page. He sniffled, looking down at his hand. “…You… No, Carcino, you don’t have to do that for me. You want to be a Knight-“

“-And I’ll be one. I’ll just be a fucking amazing doctor too.” The Knight shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s probably for the better, too. I mean, I’m good at making potions. I know basic first aid, too. And someone has to heal Caledfwlch if he gets stabbed. I’m confident enough to know that I could pass the test, just give me some time.”

Toreador finally smiled, snickering and squeezing Carcino’s hand in return. “Thank you, Carcino…” He glanced at the door, wiping his eyes. Releasing his hands, Toreador offered a gentle pat on Carcino’s shoulder. “You should go say hi to Zillyhoo. I know you want to go to his party. Don’t worry about me, alright? I can sit up fine, and I’ve already mastered object levitation. I can get things that I need.”

Carcino seemed reluctant. “You sure? I don’t want to be responsible for you if you hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry! Just… uh, make me a golem. I-If you’re so concerned.”

The Knight accepted that. “I’ll make it on the way outside, alright?” He released Toreador and stood, making a face at his dirt-stained clothes. He’d have to go change.

With a slight nod, he left the Page to sit quietly, to think to himself. .

***

Carcino changed, left the castle, and, keeping true to his promise, made a simple golem out of mud when he walked past the lake by the field.

The field- now with the majority of the stands removed- was alight with soft blue light. The sound of music and chatter filled the air, and a steady stream of nobility and Learned filed into the space.

Carcino rushed to join them, throwing a dark grey cloak over his clothes to withstand the chilly evening air. Royalty shot him ugly looks, but children who recognized him approached, offering condolences and updates on Toreador. It brought a small sense of peace to the boy. The children had yet to learn to hate each other, and children of red and blue and purple ran about, playing carefree and innocent.

The Knight took a moment to play with the children, letting them hide in his cloak and tell him about their studies. He found his patience was very great the younger a person was; after all, these children had never harmed a fly. What reason would he have to hate them?

He walked inside after the children were called by their parents, where he was greeted by the sound of Caligulas and Armageddon arguing.

Again.

“Well, I’m sorry if you have yet to reach the level I have, but you don’t need to be such a prick about it.”

“You fuckin’ know what this is about! It has nothing to do with my Majyyk!”

“So what? I was talking to her.”

“You… You fuckin’, cheating-!!”

All of the sudden, the sound of low honking silenced them, and paled their faces. Capricious was humming and dancing about with Oglogoth nearby, smiling as happily as can be. However, the moment his eyes landed on them, a shiver ran through even Carcino’s body.

Caligulas glanced at Carcino, then Armageddon. “…Don’t even think about it,” Caligulas warned, turning on his heel and retreating into the crowd.

 _‘Just one’…? Oh Gods, you’ve got to be kidding me_ , The Knight thought, eyes rolling. He swooped in and yanked Armageddon from the fight and towards the food, growling and glaring.

“What?” Armageddon asked, smirking smugly and straining his neck to watch Caligulas seethe. “Is there a problem?”

“’Ith there a problem?’ Damn right there’s a problem! Please tell me Caligulas was just being dramatic when he accused you just now.”

The Mage shrugged, taking a sweet roll from the long table of rich food. He tore off a piece, placing it into his mouth before answering, “Maybe I was. Problem?”

The Knight was dumbfounded. “Um, _maybe because you just asked a girl to marry you!?_ Really?! What if Arisen saw you!?”

“She’s off meditating, it’s fine,” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Besides, am I not allowed to talk to women at all now? Caligulas is just being a drama Prince again.”

“No, he’s not!! You know how much he adores her. You unfaithful bastard!! Do you really have to have two of everything!?”

Armageddon shrugged yet again, chewing through the roll. Carcino continued on his tirade, reminding the Mage of things he already knew, furious that his friend was so fickle.

One might be able to infer that this was the true reason he broke it off with Arisen; she’d finally realized how absolutely terrible Armageddon was in regards with women. It wasn’t that he treated them poorly; he just couldn’t fathom that a woman would care about his other actions with other women. Perhaps a miscalculation of his power over Arisen- that told him a woman’s jealousy was overly exaggerated- was watering the roots of the issue. Perhaps if Arisen was a bit more confident, she might not have allowed it with such a smile. However, it was plain that when she returned, she had a familiar look of disappointment. And yet, there she was, dancing with him as though he was her only lifeline.

And perhaps Armageddon’s true reasons to mingling were fear; fear that his own, imagined inadequacy would become real, and Arisen would see it as plainly as he did. His sense of terror as he struggled to become the wizard he always dreamed of plagued him. His assurance that he was homely tortured him. All of the nightmares he saw when he closed his eyes created a melancholy look behind them.

So, in a way, Arisen and Armageddon- two very somber people, both on the inside and out- were perfect for one another.

Carcino grumbled, eating alone until Caligulas finally made his way back to him, lips pulled tight. “Notice how a lot of the Learned is watching the women more than usual,” The wizard commented, leaning down a bit to murmur into his ear.

“Well, the Complacency has a thing for young-“

“No, no!! Look, see, they’re even looking at the moms. This is insane…” True enough, a member of the Complacency was rather obviously observing a mother and her daughters twirling in a circle and giggling. The elderly man could be seen calmly drawing his wand, as though at any moment they would sprout fangs and chant blasphemies.

 _Gods… do they think every woman is a Witch? Caligulas is right, this is insane,_ Carcino thought, crossing his arms and puffing out air.  “What do we do…?” He asked lowly, head turning.

Caligulas lifted his head up to avoid incredibly close contact with Carcino; they were, after all, in the presence of men who could read too deeply into it.  “I don’t know… I’m going to keep an eye on Culla. If you see one of the Complacency approach one of the girls, pull her away for a dance- and no, I don’t care about how terrible you are at it! This is for our girls,” he ordered in a rushed voice, standing up straight and fixing his robes. “As men, it’s our duty to protect our women from other men. It’s a fact,” He added, patting him square on the back and walking past him. “Go have fun; but not too much, alright?”

Carcino waved him away, rolling his eyes.

“Fucking whatever, you Prince.”

***

Of course, what would Zillyhoo’s party be like without the boy himself?

From the moment he stepped in, the Heir was entranced by the beauty that surrounded him; ornate decorations of blue, a long table of food fit for the Queen, and nobility that were draped with silks and jewels. They all nodded to him, cheering his name when he wandered past them. His smile grew steadily wider, and his spirits rose higher.

He’d almost forgotten the incident earlier that day; however, upon receiving a solemn nod from Carcino and a strained smile from Caligulas as they both separated from whatever they were talking about, he remembered the sickening crunch of Toreador’s spine. He threw the Knight a worried glance, and, in return, was given a small bow and a gentle wave of the hand. Toreador was fine.

His soul at ease for the moment, he smiled again, nodding, and wandered through the crowds.

He was searching for Caledfwlch, of course. He hadn’t seen the boy since he ran off after the incident with Toreador. He understood that the Knight’s cousin needed to be tended to, and his worry overpowered his desire to stay close to his friend. It was a trait that Zillyhoo admired about Caledfwlch; he had an overwhelming sense of duty.

He grew considerably worried, however, as the time went by and the Knight went unfound.

“Looking for someone, you Majesty?” Came a bubbly voice to his right.

She had fuchsia eyes- like hibiscus flowers, he noticed- and dark skin. Her hair flowed long, wavy, and thick, the locks pulled back from her face by seashell clips. She was tall and elegant, like a dancer, but Zillyhoo saw the defined muscle of her arms, and assumed the rest of her was just as toned. She wore a long, sleeveless, white gown that blended to a deep pink near the hem, soft pink gems littering her bodice and collar. She smiled happily, and Zillyhoo immediately recognized her as the girl that had spoken out during the fight between the blue and red families.

“You’re… Cthulu, right?”

She giggled. “Culler, your Highness. But, please, Culla is much sweeter on the tongue,” She told him, taking his hand and shaking it. “How are you tonight? Are you enjoying yourself?”

He flushed, eyes drifting to their hands. “Uh… yeah, I am. Thank you.” He looked back up, laughing. “I’m trying to find Caledfwlch, actually.”

She cooed with understanding. “Alright! Then I’ll take you to him!” Suddenly, she yanked his hand, rather forcefully leading him. He yelped, eyes wide. He underestimated just how strong she was, apparently. “Come with me! I saw him chatting with his brother in their family’s tent,” She declared. “Wonder why it’s still up…?”

“Uh, ma’am, please, I can move just fine, let me go-!”

“Nonsense! You’re way too slow, your Majesty!!”

He scoffed, scowling at the… was that an insult? Her voice was far too sweet to be insulting, honestly.

He was going to make a verbal protest, when up ahead, a familiar form did, in fact, appear in the crowd.

As his face could be observed, the Heir noticed his expression stoic and tense. Zillyhoo grinned anyways, waving, hurrying up, and running past Culla.

Caledfwlch, Zillyhoo saw as he drew closer, looked furious, not tense; the silent fury that boiled inside the human body, and was often released with screams of anguish late at night into the pillow. He stormed away from the crowds before Zillyhoo could confront him, followed closely by Hephaestus, who also looked incredibly upset. Hephaestus being moved was something concerning. He usually only had the emotions Amused and Indifferent.  

 _What’s wrong…?_ Zillyhoo thought with mounting worry. _Damnit, what’s happened now?! Can things just be happy for five seconds?_

“Oh dear…” Culla mumbled, halting them both with a small tug that nearly took the Heir off his feet. “That’s… oh, that’s _terr--ible_!!” She shouted the last bit, huffing angrily, eyebrows narrowing. “Zillyhoo, look!!”

The Heir followed Culla’s pointed finger, his mouth dropping open with astonishment. There, standing with his father, was Arachnid. And not only was she unharmed, but she was also in high spirits, grinning smugly at all who passed by.

_Oh… that’s why he’s angry…_

The knowledge of her arrival quickly became widespread. “What the bloody fuck!?” Carcino rushed up to Arachnid, nose flaring and brows furrowed. “You’re supposed to be in jail, you cob-webbed-!”

Typheus, in a sudden rare display of force, gripped Carcino by his cloak. Zillyhoo watched with astonishment as his father knocked the Knight back as if he was a small child, Arachnid laughing shrilly at him as he hit the ground.

“Learn your place. Arachnid was found not guilty by the highest of Councils. Be glad I don’t hold your family responsible for their conduct today,” Typheus stated, his harsh voice penetrating and mean.

Zillyhoo couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He remember just the week prior, Typheus had gently ruffled Carcino’s hair when he walked by, and gave him an apple Zillyhoo and Caledfwlch had picked from their orchard. He had called him a valuable friend- called his whole family a valuable friend. What happened? Had that been a lie as well?

“Father,” Zillyhoo called, voice taut, expression filled with a hollow sense of disappointment. His father, too, was just as against Caledfwlch’s family as the others. Sadly, the boy wasn’t surprised- not anymore, at least.

Typheus turned quickly, body stiff. He smiled tensely, chuckling. “Oh, there you are! You got away from me, son. Are you enjoying your party?” The man didn’t even bother explaining the scene. Was he expecting Zillyhoo to be ignorant all over again?

Zillyhoo didn’t change his expression. He knew Caledfwlch’s family, more so than his own. Caledfwlch’s family was rough, and Spartan in behavior, but honest and fiercely loving. As much as he hated it, as much as he loved his own clan… he knew better. He knew were his loyalties laid. So he helped Carcino up, brushing stray grass from his tunic.

“I don’t want to be on our family’s lesson schedule anymore. I want to learn with Carcino’s family,” he stated, diverting from cleaning the Knight. “And you aren’t going to convince me otherwise.” He was surprised by the firmness of his voice, and by the looks on the other’s faces, he wasn’t the only one. “I don’t want to be a scholar if all you do is think up ways to passive aggressively hate.”

“Oh, come on, Zilly!! Seriously? You’re going to stand up against your best friend!? For them?!” Arachnid in a stentorian tone, surprised that her cousin even considered it. “So what? They’re just servants!”

“They are _not_ servants. And you aren’t my friend!” Zillyhoo felt his heart race. The screams of Toreador burned in his head, and the heat of Carcino’s body beside his was cold compared to the heat of his own. “You aren’t nice at all, Arachnid!! You hurt Toreador, and you know it!! You did it on purpose, and you cried when you were found out like a coward!! My dad only bailed you out because you’re a royal, but I’ll never forgive you! When I’m King, I’m going to be different!!” He glanced at Carcino, for some sort of encouragement. The Knight nodded, sharing his expression.

Zillyhoo smiled, confidence building. “I’m going to be great, and loving. Understanding too,” He added, turning back. His eyes softened, hand reaching down and gripping the Knight’s hand. “These are my friends!! My brother is in this clan. So is yours! Why do you hate them so much?”

The small group began to draw attention. Zillyhoo’s words appeared to be affecting those that heard them.

“You don’t need to be so passive aggressive or violent towards each other!! It’s foolish!” Zillyhoo exclaimed, meeting his father’s eye for what felt like the first time. His clenched his jaw, not liking what he saw. “I don’t want to grow up to be as hateful and stupid as you. And I won’t.”

Typheus stared at his son, a look of curiosity and surprise in his expression; yet, there was no anger or shame. Arachnid scoffed, turning away; however, she appeared uneasy- guilty, even, upon looking back at him.

The Heir swallowed, breaking eye contact with his father and locking his arm with Carcino, who grunted. Culla giggled lowly, and locked her arm with the other one.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to celebrate my birthday with my old _and_ new friends,” He said, glancing at Arachnid again. “Maybe you should go apologize to certain people… it might put your soul at ease,” he offered to her, genuinely meaning it. The last thing he wanted was for Arachnid to damn herself with her pride. If she could be saved, convinced otherwise, then all the better.

She flinched, expression now completely shameful. She watched, stiff, as without another word, the three turned and molded into the party. Even the gentle hand on her shoulder did little to relax her.

“Be calm. You have told me the truth of your innocence, and I believe you,” Typheus told her.

The girl just bobbed her head, and said no more.

Zillyhoo, on the other hand, felt as though he was invigorated- finally, he knew about the feelings amongst his peers. He knew why he only had classes with his family, why Caledfwlch wasn’t allowed to see him after dark… Finally, no more lies and cover ups. He realized that he was a future king, and acted upon that realization.

One day, the entirety of what he saw would belong to him. He was in a position of power, and in the process of getting more of it as each day went by. He could as he pleased and none could stand in his way. It was a rushing sense of power and greatness; however, the more he thought of it, the more he began to see why his clan felt the need to push away Caledfwlch’s. It was the fear of sharing that power, of giving up a piece for the sake of peace and of seeming so weak that they needed to be cared for.

In truth, Zillyhoo’s clan was filled with scholars and wise men; Arachnid was the only physically violent member he could think of. It made sense to think that the warrior clan was somewhat intimidating.

Wasn’t that their purpose, however? To protect the wise men and royals, in exchange for respect and leadership? In exchange for a home? Both things were offered wholeheartedly before; why then, of all times, did the royal clan feel as though they didn’t need their friends?

 _What does it matter?_ He thought simply. He was right to think this, obviously. What was done was done. The passive aggressive classicism the royal family showed already infected the masses. He knew, with rising hope, however, that he would fix such a dreadful mess. He, as a future king, had the chance to change the damage that had been done. He could see it, barely; a sliver of a chance that dangled in the horizon. People could be inspired just as much as they could be led away.  He could do it.

“Caledfwlch!” Culla called as the boy came into her line of sight, giggling. “Oh, by the Gods, he’s going to be so proud of you, Zilly!! Standing up to your dad like that… only you can do that! It was ama--zing!”

Caledfwlch, with his brother nowhere in sight, was currently stuffing his face furiously.  When he saw Zillyhoo, his cheeks were full of pastry, a strip of bread hanging from his lip.

“Mmh-? Mhh!” The Knight swallowed, downing his apple cider with impressive speed as the three walked up. “What? What’s with the smiles?”

“You didn’t see? Zillyhoo just fuckin’ told his dad and that bitch off! It was… admittedly, pretty damn amazing,” Carcino answered, cheeks growing warm, He quickly yanked his arm away from Zillyhoo, taking a step back. “Okay, fucking… No more ‘Lug Carcino Around Like A Rag Doll’, got it?! I hate that!”

Caledfwlch hummed, tilting his head just a tad. “Did you really, Zillyhoo?”

The Heir nodded, also breaking away from Culla. “Of course. I care more about you than some stupid royal bond. I even asked if I could swap classes and take my lessons with you instead. Great, huh?”

At that, the Knight snorted. With a small, fond smile, he hugged his companion tightly, his companion returning it wholeheartedly.

“Thank you.”

“For risking my seat on the throne for you and your family, whom I’ve known literally my entire life and hold dear to my heart…? Anytime.”

Caledfwlch smiled a bit wider, nuzzling him. “…Bet you three pieces that I can devour a turkey in five seconds,” he mumbled lowly.

“I fucking dare you.”

***

Time went on at the party. Zillyhoo spent his birthday happier than he’d ever been. Caledfwlch, at his side the entire time, finally allowed himself to smile more and be more open in public. It was enough of a present to satisfy a hundred birthdays.

Culla left shortly before they began to stuff their faces, gracefully prancing over to Caligulas and leaping into his arms. Caligulas didn’t seem bothered in the slightest; he could be seen laughing and twirling around with her in his arms, then nuzzling her thick hair. He waved at them a bit before setting Culla down and leading her to dance.

It struck Zillyhoo how fitting they were for each other. Culla was gentle, like water, as she flowed around Caligulas, hand on his chest and on his palm. Caligulas was like the rough lightning, quick movements making his cousin laugh with excitement. The Heir had never seen the wizard so at peace. They were in synch, much like he and Caledfwlch were, but on a deeper, romantic level. Zillyhoo couldn’t ascertain whether or not the romance was platonic or not, but he reasoned it didn’t matter. It was pleasant watching two lovers (platonic or not) dance. 

Carcino was the next to leave them. Shortly after Caledfwlch expunged the food from his stomach (as expected), he was yanked up by the Heir so the Knight could give him his present. While he was dancing with Zillyhoo- the only thing the Heir asked for his birthday- he caught eye of Capricious. Too swiftly to catch, the Bard had rushed up, and, laughing his honking laugh all the way, took a hold of Carcino’s hands and led him away. Zillyhoo watched with a giggle as the smaller boy was swung and nearly manhandled, hissing and screeching like a wet cat and face as vivid red as his eyes.

“What did I say about lugging me around like a rag doll-!?”

“No worries, my man… Let’s do some old man spotting, huh?”

Carcino seemed to become quiet at that… whatever the Bard’s words meant must have been important.

Quickly, gasping with alarm, Zillyhoo was swooped up as well by Culla and Caligulas at the same time. Culla was beside herself with bubbly laughter, and it was so contagious Zillyhoo immediately joined her. Caligulas was laughing lowly, a little less enthusiastic to share but no doubt influenced by Culla’s desire for fun.

A little ways away, Zillyhoo could see Caledfwlch dancing with Oglogoth, who had joined them at some point during Caledfwlch’s puking marathon and proceeded to read him a recipe for a new way to cook a turkey to spite him. No doubt, as they twirled in circle like the perfect pair, she was continuing to tease him for it.

“It’s good to see you happy, Caledfwlch,” She said, smiling a bit. “I can tell in the way you dance, you know… What’s made you so gleeful?”

He smiled, a hand on her hip and another holding her hand away. “I have friends. I have a family that is the greatest and most loyal group I could ever ask to raise me… a better question is why I wouldn’t be happy.” He twirled her, smile growing. “Life is a beautiful thing, I think, when you enjoy the things you have while you still have them.”

She nodded, raising her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek. “Yes… A very wise statement, that is.”

At that point, Zillyhoo quickly cut in, snickering as he bumped Caledfwlch with his hip. “Boo! I saw her first!” Caledfwlch cried in mock aggression, taking Oglogoth’s hand again.

The Seer scoffed, flicking her wrists. Suddenly, both boys rose from the ground, and with another twirl of her hands, they collided with each other in mid air. “I’ve suddenly decided that I am a human being, thank you very much,” she snapped.

The two boys groaned in unison, Zillyhoo recovering much faster and hugging Caledfwlch tightly while on the ground. “You can keep her, brother…” Caledfwlch muttered, patting the Heir’s back. “She’s a bigger bitch than Arachnid- _ow, I was joking_!! Gods, lady…”

***

Time and merriment went on into the night. Just as the clock chimed the eleventh hour, loud, piercing horn filled the air, followed by several softer horns. Caledfwlch and Zillyhoo exchanged looks of astonishment, rising from their place at their table. That horn meant only one person was entering the area.

All activity halted. Oglogoth was the only one who kept her head high; all others bowed, submissive before their ruler, for it was Queen glided into the area, parting the people as though the crowds were an ocean.

Zillyhoo realized that, for the first time in his life, he would meet his grandmother. He felt rather strange; giddy, but also dreadful. Would she be kind? Would she be as wise and terrifying as he’d heard?

The Queen was as tall as people told him, that was for sure; standing so impressively, in an ornate blue gown glittering with sapphires, pearls, and diamonds, a thick lace veil obscuring her face and hair. In fact, she showed absolutely no skin; her hands were even covered with white leather gloves. Her prescience, however, commanded attention and worship; her eyes could be felt watching every person.

In her hands, Zillyhoo noted, she clutched Calliope. Calliope was the Wand of Creation. Passed down to the greatest wizard in the land by the previous master, it had the ability to do anything Earthly- and, some say, Godly- possible. It was a powerful weapon; for (and this was also a rumor) some say it had the ability to bring back the dead. Others say that it had the ability to slaughter whole armies with a slick flick. Many agree, however, that it was capable of some absolutely beautiful Majyyk.

The Queen held the long, pearly white wand as though it was a weapon of punishment rather than the true artist’s paintbrush.  She tapped it against her open palm, head turning to observe all.

Accompanying her was Hephaestus, obviously there to serve as her body guard, with Caliborn drawn partially and gleaming. He appeared… almost uneasy. None but Caledfwlch could see it, but his brother’s hands were shaking as he clutched the handle of the blade.

Hephaestus pressed two fingers to his throat, the area glowing with a red hue. “The Queen thanks you for celebrating her grandson’s birthday,” Hephaestus boomed, voice amplified and surprisingly steady given the previous mention of his shaking hands. “She is feeling quite under the weather, and therefore will refuse all dancing and fun-having. However, she will watch and enjoy secondhand from all of you, her beloved subjects.”

At that, the Queen raised a hand and waved at them, silent and solemn. The crowd exploded with cheers and cries of love, none of which Oglogoth, Zillyhoo, or Caledfwlch took part in.

Because, oddly enough… The Queen ignored Zillyhoo. He stood within an arms length, able to hear if she was to whisper; however, she did nothing to acknowledge him. She merely passed him, as if he was but a commoner.

The Heir was taken aback, deeply hurt by his grandmother’s disregard for him. He said nothing, however; merely watched as her entourage of Learned followed, gaily conversing about clock necklaces coming into fashion.

“Something’s fishy about this…” Zillyhoo mumbled after a moment, starting forward.

“Wait, Zillyhoo,” Oglogoth told him, grabbing his tunic. He made a small noise, turning his head to ask why.

He saw Arachnid instead, walking right past Caledfwlch without a care in the world, smiling and fluttering her fan with a strong sense of pride about her. The Knight visibly tensed, jaw clenching. She smirked at him, winking, which forced Oglogoth to take hold of Caledfwlch’s tunic as well, and use far more force for him.

Arachnid’s eyes wandered to Zillyhoo, were the cruelty faded quickly, and she gained her look of guilt back. She gave him a tense smile, shrugging. Whether that was an apology or not was a  mystery, for she immediately went back to smiling charmingly for the Queen. Wordlessly, she waltzed up to her, curtsying as lowly as she could. “My Queen, allow me to show you to your seat,” She offered, not daring to touch her, and instead simply leading her to the royal seating. The Queen followed, still silent, followed by those blue-garbed members of the Learned. All of the wizards were at various stages of decay, but all of them were living. They were just really, really, really, really, really quite old.

Caledfwlch scowled at Arachnid’s pleasantries, able to do so when the Queen couldn’t see him. “Bitch…” He muttered.

Zillyhoo reached down and took his hand in comfort, lips turning downwards. He glanced at him and then back at the blue parade, then repeated. As his grandmother passed, people bowed and curtsied; even Oglogoth, after a moment of silent protest, had bowed her head. Zazzerpan broke away from The Learned as she did, chuckling and taking her hand.

“I thought I was rid of you for one night,” she snapped, a look of disdain crossing her features.

“Hm… No such luck, my dear,” He responded with a grandfatherly pat on the shoulder.  “Happy birthday, young Heir!”  He added, waving mirthfully to Zillyhoo.

The Seer gave the boys a bitter, irritated scoff as an apology for leaving, rolling her eyes when Zazzerpan led her away for a dance.

The Heir felt offended. “She didn’t even say hello to me! How utterly rude!”

The blond paused before asking, “Do you still respect your grandmother, then?” The party had begun again, but the two stayed stationary.

Zillyhoo frowned deeper, eyeing the Queen as she sat like the Gods over them all, watching like a hawk. “Of course… but… I’m curious now. Suspicious, even.”

Caledfwlch recalled earlier that day, when the he’d had made allusions to death for treason when Zillyhoo similar things. He began to understand why he held such little respect, now that he finally saw it in person “…How so?” he asked after yet another pause, raising an eyebrow. Zillyhoo motioned nonchalantly towards her. “Why does she choose now, of all times, to appear before me? And not even say hello? It’s almost like this party isn’t even about me the moment she shows up. Does she hate me?”

“Hell if I know,” was his answer. Caledfwlch took Zillyhoo by the arm and led him to the side, away from the crowds. Once people became scarce, they could converse far more privately.

They barely made it past the final circle of dancers. All at once, Caledfwlch visibly shuddered, which halted him in his place. “Caledfwlch…?” Zillyhoo asked, moving to look into Caledfwlch’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The Knight winced, rubbing his chest as he paled. “I’m fine…” He wheezed, coughing and whining as he tried to take a step. It was as though every movement was a labor; as though he was in an ocean, walking along the floor with the pressure crushing his chest. He stopped, eyes shutting tightly as he gasped for air.

“…Friend?” Zillyhoo asked, voice growing in volume with mounting concern. Caledfwlch shook his head, eyes opening to look at the sky. He gasped audibly, panting. He doubled over in pain, letting out another soft whine as he tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t.

“Caledfwlch!” Zillyhoo exclaimed, gripping the Knight’s shoulders and righting him. “What’s wrong? Are you going to faint?”

His companion raised his head, so slowly that he almost didn’t notice the movement. Caledfwlch appeared frightened- more frightened than Zillyhoo had ever seen him-, his blood-red eyes dilated as though exposed to a bright light.

“ _Twelve_ ,” He whispered breathily, backing up. “ _Twelve, I remember twelve…_ ” He finally took a deep, shuddery breath, eyes welling with tears.

Zillyhoo called out again and again, but Caledfwlch didn’t snap out of his strange, new daze.

The world grew quiet, it seemed, as the chaos began.

It started with a loud whizzing sound, the air stirring like when an arrow shoots through it. A loud crack shot through the air, followed by a soft thunk in the distance as something hit the ground.

Zillyhoo’s head snapped toward the noise, mouth dropping open in a look of dumbfounded astonishment.  

On the ground- in the dirt, and in the mud- was the Queen, blood pouring from a hole in her head, right between where her eyes should be.

Zillyhoo never thought one could feel so utterly numb to death. Yet there he was, struggling to feel anything except distant sadness, surprise, and disappointment. He’d never even had the chance to speak to her. And, he realized with growing disappointment, that he hadn’t even cut his birthday cake.

The Learned cried out in terror, rushing away from the Queen’s throne like rats, pointing to the sky fearfully as they teleported and retreated.

The Heir, following their insistent pointing, looked up. Upon seeing the sight they saw, he immediately reached out and grabbed Caledfwlch’s hand, so tightly his knuckles turned white, and then bolted, dragging his friend with him.

There had to be a hundred of them, burning with green flames as they charged for the earth; meteors of various sizes, from as small as a pebble to as large as a cottage.

Panic erupted; people began to scatter, screaming and grabbing loved ones as they rushed to the castle, as though that stony structure was any safer than the place they were running from.

Zillyhoo’s father hadn’t stopped to grieve for his mother- not even for one second. The moment he realized they were under attack, Typheus leapt from the royal stands, making a beeline for his son with adrenaline-powered speed. He scooped him up, breaking Zillyhoo’s contact with Caledfwlch, who still stood, watching with empty, cold eyes.

“Caledfwlch-!!” Zillyhoo screamed, panicked, reaching out with his hands and kicking with his feet, trying to break away from his father. “Let me go!! I have to go help him!!”

Typheus didn’t utter a word. He surged ahead, clutching his son protectively. He draped his cloak around him, cradling him against his chest as they fled, ignoring the screams for guidance from those wizards still there. He had but one person to protect, and that person was currently beside himself with anguish.   

Zillyhoo sobbed, wet tears sliding down his face as he watched his friend, motionless, grow smaller as the distance grew between them. Once the meteors began to strike the ground, he shrieked out of pure panic despite being safe in his father’s arms. The ground shook with each collision, knocking people off their feet. The sound was almost deafening. Perhaps if it was, the fearful screams would have been more tolerable; perhaps they wouldn’t haunt Zillyhoo for the rest of his life.

 “Caledfwlch…!!”

*

The sound slap to his face awoke the Knight, and he gasped, remembering that he had to breathe.

It was Oglogoth, but her face and mussed hair were covered in dirt, as though she’d recently fallen. Her dress was torn around the ends, her calves and bare feet showing through. He looked into orchid eyes, full of worry and aggravation. “What’s the matter with you!? Come on, you have to go!!” She cried, voice hoarse with shouting. Blood, he saw, was dripping from her broken lip and a cut on her forehead. She wiped it away thoughtlessly, smearing her makeup in the process.

 _Why is she bleeding? What did I miss…?_   He thought, narrowing his eyes. “What?” He asked, confused. His question was answered via one child sized meteor hitting nearby, knocking them both off their feet. Out of reflex, chivalrous nature, and general care of the Seer, Caledfwlch shielded Oglogoth with his own body. As the Knight surveyed the landscape, the situation became all too apparent.

All around him was chaos. The families were running about, terrified, and meteors hit the ground one by one, sinking into the ground as though they were a hot prong and the earth was ice..

 “What’s going on!? Where are these coming from?!” Caledfwlch shouted, rising quickly.

“I don’t know,” Oglogoth answered, eyes narrowed. “But what’s the good of Majyyk if one cannot use it for these situations?”

She drew twin wands from her gown, eyes glowing with power as her hands crackled with energy. With a passionate cry of Eldritch and a point of one wand, violet bursts shot from it, obliterating one meteor just before it hit the ground into a fine powder.

“Nice,” Caledfwlch commented with mild awe, reaching down into his boot and drawing his own wand. It was a tool he used sparsely, given his lack of talent with it; however, he couldn’t afford to look useless in front of the Seer.

“Thank you. I suggest you do the same,” she replied, twirling her wands in her hands and firing another bolt at another meteor.

There was truly no doubt that her skills far exceeded her age. She was beautiful and terrifying at the same time, like a true master.

She inspired courage in those watching, naturally; after all, she proved that all could be a hero on this day- her, an elegant Seer. Following her lead, other wizards drew their wands and staffs and began to fire at the oncoming storm.

Oglogoth, however, need not encourage one Knight. He was already running about, climbing on high piles of debris and using his own wand to create as big of a shield as he possibly could. Carcino, displeased with the meager protection, leaped down, running to and fro, creating shields for the fallen and gathering those confused.

“If you can, grab the injured and go!” Carcino ordered to the able, taking Hephaestus’ place in his strange absence. “Everyone who doesn’t have someone injured, draw your wands and help Oglogoth form a suitable shield or try to destroy the rocks before they hit the castle!”

Atop the peasantry stands, Caligulas and Capricious were observing the fleeing masses and castle. “Carcino, you’re not going to believe this…” Caligulas called, shakily, eyes wide and staring past the blood on his face. “The castle is fine.”

“What!?”

Capricious put up a shield for them just as a pebble zoomed towards them, jolting as the sheer velocity of the small rock cracked it. He turned to see what Caligulas saw, and nodded, yelling down to them, “Yeah… what the man says is true, brother. castle isn’t even a little scratched.”

Oglogoth, still disbelieving and wishing to see it for herself, created an eye quickly with flowing hand movements and more Eldritch, sending it into the air and closer to the castle than the two wizards were.

“…By the Gods,” she gasped, observing what the eye saw through her own. “That’s not possible for a natural occurrence…” And indeed, after three confirmations, it was proven completely correct. The castle stood calmly, resolutely, and very much unharmed, while the area they were in was the only one suffering from that onslaught of flaming rock. Each rock that hit the ground, when viewed from above, formed a spiral inward with perfect precision. It made Oglogoth’s blood run cold.   

“What? Fuck, then take everyone you can to the castle!! Holy shit, I don’t fucking care WHERE you take someone, just don’t let anyone fucking die!” At Carcino’s biting order, even blue wizards rushed to obey. The Knight, after giving said orders, rushed to where younger children were cowering, using his wand to create his strongest shield for them. “Capricious, on the right!!” Carcino pointed to some elders, who were moving too slowly to avoid the approaching attack.

In an inhuman bound, Capricious leapt up, drawing twin wands that molded into clubs. Those clubs smoked indigo, and with them, he beat the side of the giant rock. The indigo Majyyk he had vibrated through the meteor and it looked almost as though it would shatter. Instead, however, he sent it flying out into the field away from the population. He landed atop the fallen awning of the royal stands, turning to Carcino and grinning. “I’ve got your back, my best brother!” he exclaimed, juggling his clubs as though they were toys.

“Not your brother, but whatever…!!”

Caligulas yelped as a meteor almost hit him unexpectedly. Thinking quickly, he leaped from his place atop the peasantry stands, removing his cape and using it to ride the decorative strings of lights to the ground. “What do we do, Car?” He asked as he jogged up to him, frightened despite himself.

“Regardless of the castle’s status, protect this area with your lives until everyone can leave the circle. That’s an order!” Carcino barked. He handed the children off to Caligulas, who took them without complaint.

The wizard, however, hesitated. “Car, have you seen Culla? She ran away from me when this started…” He asked.

The Knight’s lips drew into a thin line. “…I haven’t seen her,” He responded, the implications draining the color from the wizard’s face. “I’m sure she’s fine, Caligulas. She’s a strong girl, she can hold her own,” he added with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Not convinced but willing to be optimistic, Caligulas relayed the original order as he quickly rushed away with the toddlers in his arms.

Wizards from all three families drew their courage upon seeing their brethren protect themselves, and one by one, the remaining wizards in the area began to use their powers to shield those too young or too old or too injured.   

Oglogoth looked on with admiration. “Your cousin is very good at leadership,” She commented. It was meant for Caledfwlch, who was very quiet,

 Which was odd, she realized, aware too late of the burning heat behind her.

*

Meanwhile, Typheus had teleported from the arena to the castle, where he immediately took Zillyhoo to the emergency bunker in the lowest level of the castle. For precaution’s sake, he bound his son and set him in the corner, where he couldn’t break free.

Zillyhoo struggled in his binds regardless, glaring hatefully at his father. “How could you!?” He screamed. “Caledfwlch is still back there! Your own family is still back there-!!”

“You will absolutely not move,” His father barked, sliding his helmet on. “You’ll stay here, and that’s final.”

“No I won’t!! I don’t want to be blind anymore!! You can’t shield me from the true despair of everything! If people…” He trailed off, swallowing. “If people are dying, I want to help.”

The High Prince paused. His eyes grew soft, and he looked upon his son with a somber fondness. He kneeled, gently holding his shoulders. “No one else will die,” Typheus comforted, staring into his eyes with a calm, fatherly smile. “As I recall, Hephaestus is still there.”

Zillyhoo’s eyes watered again, and he squirmed. “I don’t want people to die, father…”

Still relaxed, Typheus leaned in and kissed his hair.

“Sometimes, it must happen, Zillyhoo. You will understand when you’re older.”

*

Back at the stands, those still standing watched with awe as fire shot like lightning through the sky; however, it wasn’t simply fire, but a man.

Hephaestus was aflame, sword in hand, as he sliced the largest- and last, Caledfwlch realized with elated joy- meteor yet in two, the two pieces falling away from the arena. Behind him, glorious wings- real ones, like an eagle’s- protruded from his back, every feather ablaze with light. Fire danced along his skin, his golden armor…

He descended to the earth gracefully. He landed just behind Oglogoth, scooping her up bridal style too quickly for her liking.

“Excuse you-!” Oglogoth started, pointing her own wand at him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but unfortunately, you don’t have giant fucking wings that can carry both you and me. I’ve been ordered by your drunk-ass mum to take you back.”

She struggled, naturally. “She is sick, you insensitive bastard, not drunk. And no, absolutely not!!”

“Just go, Oglogoth,” Caledfwlch said wearily, waving his wand to lift debris from a wounded fellow. “I can’t protect you here.”

“As if _I_ ’ _m_ the one that needs protection!”

Hephaestus groaned with impatience, ignored her continuing, feisty protests, and took off in a run, leaping into the air and ascending into the sky.  “Go find Carcino, Caledfwlch!” He called after his brother. “Help him pick up survivors!”

The Knight nodded, relieved. Finally, this nightmare was over. They could begin to head and understand after this terrible tragedy. All would not be lost.

As he took his first steps, however, it was as though the Earth slowed, and his movements grew weighted and slow, just as they did before. His stomach churned, and his head spun with color and a high-pitched noise he couldn’t place. It was the same as before, he realized. What was happening? He had no food to regurgitate, but he heaved regardless as the sensory overload proved too much. He could hear things, see things; things that were all happening at once, as though they were image placed upon image upon image. His chest ached, like tiny holes had been poked into his torso. He gripped his throat, the air cutting into what felt like raw skin. He could hear screaming intertwined the first noise, like a buzz in the back of his skull. It couldn’t have been real; none of what he was feeling or seeing or hearing was real. The screaming was a chorus, unfamiliar in tune. Distantly, the howls made his eyes roll back in his skull.

He staggered to a stop, eyes turning up at the clouds that the flaming meteors created. They seemed so far away now... Seemed so small in comparison to past tragedies, of which he knew nothing about.

The clouds formed symbols in his mind- his mind that now betrayed him completely. His mind blocked out all sound around him, until all he could hear was the howling, the screaming, and the white noise of the darkest corners of his soul. He felt as though he was underwater once more, with the same insistent pressure as before pushing at his chest- now more like a gaping, ugly hole in his torso.

He distantly pleaded in his mind for release from whatever hex he was under; there were things to do, people to help and heal…

_But are they? Are they really people? Does he know their names? Or are they just a backdrop in his own life, meant to make this world seem far more crowded for his own sad comfort…? Does he even know his own name?_

Whispers. He heard those whispers, so soft and secretive. Why were these voices asking him those questions? Of course he knew his name.

_... Don’t I?_

His vision began to blur to blackness; yet, strangely, he felt utterly at peace. He asked not in fear, but in genuine curiosity. Doesn’t he?

He fell to his knees. The images became clearer, one by one, as they were lifted from atop each other, his entire body shaking as he saw each one.

_Don’t I…!?_

*

Carcino had instructed all that knew how to uphold shields to cease doing so and help find the injured. At that moment, the Knight was rushing about to find Zillyhoo, whom he had only just realized was missing. “Where did he go…!? Centaur, where is Zillyhoo!?” He cried, his concern showing through. No one had seen his father grab the boy, and there was far too much chaos going on to have wondered where he’d gone before.

Centaur, who was carefully moving large debris, looked up in alarm. He drew his lips thin. “I… I don’t know,” He replied, monotone- broken, almost. The blame could quickly be seen being placed on his shoulders. He was the one who, other than Caledfwlch, paid the most attention to the Heir’s whereabouts. “I will expect reprimand for my folly…”

Carcino scoffed, throwing his head into the motion, he rolled his eyes so hard. “No, you sweaty fuck! No punishment! If he’s not here, then he’s obviously at the castle. No harm done- literally. Calm the fuck down.”

Centaur began to sweat- most likely due to his belief that punishment, in fact, would come. He did show he understood with a bow of his head, though.

He went back to his task- it was the benefit of all that he did. His eyes flitted down to where he’d just moved quite a bit of wood, where the royal stand had fallen.

Upon seeing a hand lash out, he jolted in surprise, making a small grunt and backing away.

Laying amongst the broken, splintered wood was Arachnid, her one remaining eye darting about furiously, her severed arm no doubt underneath the rest of the rubble. Her remaining arm lashed out at them, as though she could wound them for her misfortune in her pathetic state.  

“Ah. There you are. She must’ve been hiding underneath the royal stands. Not very smart, huh?” Carcino snorted, brushing wood chips off her. When she reached for his throat, she was so weak that all he had to do was swat it away.

Carcino felt no pity, even when Centaur carefully pulled her out and found her blood was still oozing. “Must suck being impaired, huh?” He asked bitterly, narrowing his eyes.

She stopped reaching for him, the irony of her situation hitting her.

“Fuck you…” She wheezed, voice hoarse and barely there, wincing harshly as she strained herself just to speak. 

However, despite his anger, the Knight leaned down. “I wish I could say I was sorry for this… But I’m not.” without warning, he gripped the stump of her arm, burning the flesh and cauterizing the wound before she bled out. Her scream was vaguely familiar, and once again, the irony wasn’t lost. “Oh, right. I forgot to warn you that was going to hurt.” He shrugged. “Well, I’m learning. I’ll eventually get the hang of being nice to wretched people.”

Her eyes focused on him. She hissed, with all of her might, and promptly blacked out.

“…I’ll take her to the infirmary…” Centaur mumbled, lifting her into his arms.

The Knight sighed. “Fine. Be careful about her head, and put this cloth over her eye; if blood rushes to her head too quickly, she could black out permanently. And I want to see her pay for what she did to Toreador, instead of walking around like the little Thief she is.”

Centaur appeared to disagree. “She didn’t kill him.”

“She wanted to. Lust is committed when you look at someone with lust; why not murder?”

Capricious hummed in agreement, moving rocks a little ways away. “Amen- oh… shit…” Capricious had looked up. He stood straight, expression falling. “…Carcino…”

Carcino felt his heart grow heavy. “…Yeah. I see.”

It was Armageddon. He was by a large rock, cradling the upper body of Arisen desperately. He sobbed so softly, but with such a force that it shook his entire body.

A meteor had stricken Arisen without their knowledge. Her eyes, once believed to be empty, were now actually empty.

She was dead. Absolutely dead.

The wind left Carcino’s lungs. As strange as she was, he was fond of her. He knew her before she left for the Fields; he knew her after she left the Fields. The life she held could have filled the sun. She was a silly, funny human being that smiled and felt things. She was sad sometimes, yes. She was disappointed and sad that the man she loved was still a boy, who didn’t want to talk and listen. Perhaps then, both of their needs could have been met, and they wouldn’t have had to have danced such a melancholy waltz.

He took a few steps back, gulping in air, the gravity and reality of the moment hitting him like a stampede. Looking around, he saw it more and more; injuries that shouldn’t have been, some thought to be so strong that were sobbing, calling out for family, lovers…

Capricious rushed to his side as Carcino fell into a dead faint, holding him up. “I’ve got you, come on…” He held the other tightly, feeling his loss and shock as though it was his own.

 

“Caligulas?” Culla called. Dressed in an apron and gloves, she walked into the area, followed by several other healers and volunteers. “Caligulas-?”

“I’m here, Culla!” The wizard leapt up, smiling brightly. “Oh, thank the Gods…” He rushed to her, clutching her tightly. He buried his face in her thick hair, shoulders quivering. “Thank the Gods, you’re alright…”

She smiled, stroking his cheek and nuzzling him. “I left to get healers… I assumed we’d need plenty. I’m fine, Caligulas.” She took his hands and placed them to her cheeks. “See?” She cooed. “I’m not going to go anywhere.”

He laughed brokenly, holding her close once again.

As Culla held Caligulas, she saw Arisen’s body and Armageddon. She gasped, covering her mouth in stunned silence. “Oh, no…” She whispered. The girl broke away from Caligulas abruptly, jogging to the two. Kneeling by Armageddon and putting a hand on his shoulder, she began to heal Armageddon’s cuts.

Caligulas watched from afar, of course.

 _Good, she’s finally accounted for…_ The Knight thought, biting his lip and surveying the land. _That’s nearly everyone except…_

“…Where’s Caledfwlch?” Carcino asked aloud, surprised by how drained his voice was.

“Over there. I tried to wake him, but he’s been staring out into space for the past minute,” Capricious answered with a lopsided frown and a thumb in the Knight’s general direction. The blond, as he said, still stood on his knees, staring up as though in prayer, arms limp at his sides and wand left to turn the grass below it to ash.

Carcino swallowed. He already didn’t like where the situation was going. Was the Knight injured? Was he dead? Shocked into silence?

“…Caledfwlch?” He called, cautiously. He slowly began to approach, waving his wand so that the blond’s own was too far away for a sudden attack. After Capricious grabbed it, the brunet Knight was able to feel comfortable sliding his own wand back into his pocket. “Caledfwlch…?”

No response. As he drew nearer, Carcino was hit with a wave of uneasiness. It enveloped him in an uncomfortable heat and made him want to back away and run. He covered his nose, coughing, eyes widening as a foul stench invaded his senses. _Like… burning meat,_ He realized with disdain. Wretched, rotting, burning flesh.

He didn’t expect the scream- no one did. None expected the sudden loud, ear-piercing shriek of absolute terror and anguish. Carcino covered his ears, crying out in pain as the sound rang his eardrums. He was sure that they’d begun to bleed, even.

When the Knight looked up, it was then he realized Caledfwlch was the one screaming.

Caledfwlch howled, eyes wide and empty, mouth open wide in his wailing. He gripped his head, pulling out his hair and curling up as he sobbed between his screams. Whatever he was seeing- if he was seeing at all- was horrific, to elicit such a response. It was pure terror that fueled that cry; a fear so deep that it rocked the cores of all who heard it. So loud it was, that even Zillyhoo, a far ways away, heard it and felt dread, despite not knowing it was his beloved friend.

It occurred to Carcino that Caledfwlch was screaming a word. The tone of his shrieks changed, from frightened to agonized. As Caligulas and Capricious rushed to restrain Caledfwlch and calm him, it occurred to Carcino that Caledfwlch wasn’t on their plane of sight anymore- perhaps, wasn’t even on their plane of being anymore.

What he was screaming was a dead language, once used only to speak directly to the Gods.         

And he was calling them monsters.

 


End file.
